


Moonstone and Amethyst

by enigmalea



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Bickering, Bull is Taashathi's Wingman, Cunnilingus, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - All New Faded For Her, Emotional Sex, F/M, Fade Sex, Fade Shenanigans, Finger Sucking, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Miscommunication, Oral Sex, POV Solas, Praise Kink (mild), Solas eats pussy like a champ, Solas is a Perv, Solas is an idiot, Storage Closet used for inappropriate reasons, Taashathi is a cinnamon roll, Taashathi knows what she's doing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vaginal Sex, Wisdom dropping truth bombs like it gets paid to do it, gratuituous use of canon dialogue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-05-14 20:11:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 40,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19280314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmalea/pseuds/enigmalea
Summary: Solas finds her enchanting, no matter how hard he resists, and he's trying desperately to resist. A retelling of the Solas romance with an Adaar Inquisitor.The seeds of infatuation have sown themselves deep; the roots have worked themselves down from his chest into his stomach as the branches have already started to reach toward his heart. He knows he must stop this senseless sprouting of emotion before it even begins. He'd never been prone to flights of emotional fancy, but there was something about her.He steps out of the cabin into the cold night air and breathes deep, trying to slow his racing mind which won't stop speeding toward her. All of Haven is celebrating their small victory over the Breach; it has stopped expanding. She fainted with the effort of it, after battling gloriously against an overly powerful Pride demon which should have killed them all (the irony that their first tough battle should be against Pride is not lost on him).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Thick as Thieves](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16161074) by [blarfkey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blarfkey/pseuds/blarfkey). 



> Just a little plot bunny that will _not_ leave me alone while I work on the next chapter of [Nobody Expects the Dragon Age Inquisition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17793689). I do have plans to continue this, but I don't think it will be a full retelling of the Solas romance, just scenes here and there. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> * * *
> 
> **follow me for updates:** [ao3 (click subscribe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmalea/profile) ☆ [tumblr](http://enigmalea.tumblr.com) ☆ [twitter](https://twitter.com/enigmaleaDA)  
>  **prompt me:** [how to](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/post/185117840754) ☆ [submit](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/ask) ☆ [read on tumblr](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/tagged/my-drabbles) ☆ [read on ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19825843)
> 
>  **join me @:** [The Hanged Man Discord](https://discord.gg/U4Y5uCR) for DA fanfic readers, writers, and betas! (Please note the server is NSFW and 18+ only.)

Regret. Failure. Shame. Solas is used to these emotions; so used to them, he had believed himself immune to their impact, and yet as he looks down on the form of the creature who has taken the Anchor he is loath to admit he is actually not immune to them at all. He is alone with the prisoner in this dank cell, charged with keeping her alive so the Chantry can make her pay for her "crimes"; crimes Solas is well aware he is responsible for. Ultimately, keeping her alive is in his best interest, but isn't it also the right thing to do?

He is thankful for small mercies which allow his goals to be aligned with the moral high ground; it seems a rare thing, indeed.

His hand slides down the expanse of her forearm, fingertips gliding over the incandescent silver of the skin barely hiding the muscle beneath; the color reminds Solas of moonstone and the thought it is beautiful barely registers consciously in his mind. His hand slides to cup hers gently. He can feel the magic of the Anchor pulsing through it, but for once in his life, the magic isn't the most remarkable thing before him. His fingers are long and slender and his hand large for an elf's, but her massive hand dwarfs his.

He swallows thickly. It is easy to imagine this hand crushing the skull of anyone who crosses her; a mage with this kind of formidable physical strength is almost terrifying to him. He finds himself hoping beyond hopes when she awakens she will not be the type to use his magic for evil. With the depth of her connection to the Fade (which he can sense even as she sleeps) and this physical strength, she could bring Thedas to its knees and install herself as a Goddess.

He focuses his energy through the Anchor, working to stabilize her connection to it so it won't kill her. He had tried, at first, to stabilize the Veil, but the botched attempt at tearing it down was so poor that wasn't possible, and the Breach was not only killing the bearer of his Mark, but also the world. He'd need to physically take the Anchor to the Breach to stabilize it, and it would take time for her to gain enough power to be able to close the Breach itself.

He wasn't sure he was successful in his attempt to prevent the Anchor from killing the mage until her hand relaxed in his. Her body, which had been tense and contorted in pain for nearly three days, finally relaxed. He pressed a cloth to her head, wiping it free of the cold sweat which had sprung up over her entire body. The grimace on her face relaxed and as her features softened, Solas felt an emotional tug he hadn't been expecting.

She is _pretty_. Her lips are full and her cheekbones are high and her eyelashes are long. How someone this large can be soft and feminine, Solas can't understand. He also can't understand how her previously broken nose, the myriad of scars, and the _horns_ protruding from her scalp don't detract from her beauty.

His hand shakes as he reaches out to touch the shiny horns; his fingertips have barely connected with the keratin when the woman lets out a loud, "No! Please!"

Solas has never jerked his hand back so quickly; his heart pounds in his chest as his barrier flickers to life. It takes a moment for him to realize she is having a _nightmare_ and hasn't suddenly woken up. He breaths deep and lets his barrier fall.

He's not sure why he reaches out to squeeze her hand to give her comfort or why he delights in her reflexively squeezing back. He frowns at the shackles on her wrists and ankles and hopes they don't cause her to panic when she awakens. The last thing both of them need is for her to make herself look guilty. He needs to somehow convince them she needs to stay alive and she should help them, at least until he manages to reclaim his orb and take the mark back.

He sighs heavily and squeezes her hand one last time before standing; he needs to tell the Seeker he's done all he can and now they can only wait until she awakens. He suspects it will be soon.

 

* * *

 

He's been on the frontline for hours, he and the dwarf, taking down every demon which is spit out of a rift. While others are concerned with the human lives at stake, Solas can only consider how many Spirits are being twisted by the warping of the Veil. His plan to save the world seems to have doomed it - twice.

He grimaces as yet another round of demons pours out and stands from where he was crouched waiting. He hears Varric behind him mumble a "well, shit," as he reloads his crossbow and lets a bolt fly; Solas' spell joins it. He _senses_ her before he sees her; he can feel the Anchor getting closer, and also the Fade being pulled to her as she gathers her mana.

The barrier she casts over Cassandra tells him all he needs to know; she is the kind of person to put others - even her captors - first. The chain lightning she casts rips through the demons, arcing from one to another with such ferocity, Solas can feel the power emanating from it. It's a heady feeling and he's momentarily distracted by it.

He stumbles back as the rage demon surges forward and he dispels its barrier. Her ice bears down on the demon freezing it in place as Solas pummels it with an energy barrage. It lets out a shriek of pain before disintegrating, and Solas can't help but mourn the loss of a Spirit of love.

The silence falls heavy as the last of the demons is dispatched by the dwarf's crossbow, and Solas takes just a moment to catch his breath before he is crossing to the large woman. "Quickly," he says as he reaches for her hand, "before more come through."

The warm hum of the Anchor is comforting, as is the feeling of his mana flowing through her to it. The initial connection is weak, but she catches on quickly, and begins to add her mana to his, channeling it through the focus which has attached itself to her hand. There is something almost intimate about it, the feeling of their energy being channeled through his Mark born on her hand; it nearly takes his breath away and as the rift seals he's left panting lightly, his fingertips tingling against the soft skin of her hand.

He hasn't looked at her, yet, not really, and he's not sure he can without feeling _something_ (guilt or something worse), but he knows he must. He drops her hand and glances over his shoulder, barely stops himself from gasping aloud at the sight of her eyes, bright violet and shining like amethysts in the sun.

"What did you do?" Her voice is soft and melodic and very nearly hypnotic and it is all Solas can do to focus on replying.

"I did nothing. The credit is yours," he says.

She narrows her eyes at him almost imperceptibly, but Solas sees the tiny movement because he can't stop _staring_ at her. He's half afraid she's going to tell someone he _did_ help, because surely she sensed his mana, but no. "Well, at least this is good for something," she says looking down at her flexing hand.

She turns to look at their companions, and he can't stop the words from pouring from his mouth, trying desperately to hold her attention. "Whatever magic" - _my magic- "_ opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake- and it seems I was correct."

"Meaning it could also close the Breach itself," Cassandra offers.

"Possibly," he answers. "It seems you hold the key to our salvation."

The spell between them is broken as she spins around to look at the Seeker and then at Varric, and Solas feels the loss of it instantly. It has left him feeling empty and unimportant, and he doesn't know why. _What is happening to me?_

He's barely listening to the words Varric says, but he catches her voice crystal clear as she asks the dwarf if he's part of the chantry. He chuckles, unable to stop himself as he huffs out "was that a serious question?"

She turns to him, violet eyes wide as she flushes in embarrassment. It's too late to take back his amusement at her expense, because it was, ultimately serious. He hadn't considered she didn't know Varric personally and likely knew very little about human institutions like the Chantry. Varric and Cassandra begin to bicker as usual and as amusing as it is there is still the matter of the Breach tearing open rifts that are spitting out demons.

"My name is Solas if there are to be introductions," he tells her, interrupting the fighting. "I am pleased to see you still live."

Her eyebrow arches higher but before she can speak in her melodious tone, Varric interjects, "he means ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.'"

The gratitude on her face is unearned, since it's his fault she was dying anyway, but he finds himself willing to accept it as she inclines her head toward him shyly and runs her hand over the back of her neck. "Thank you. You didn't have to do that," she says softly. "My name is Taashathi. You can call me Taasha. All of you."

_Calm one_ , his brain supplies from the Qunlat he'd picked up while in uthenera. The name is certainly a good fit.

 

* * *

 

The seeds of infatuation have sown themselves deep; the roots have worked themselves down from his chest into his stomach as the branches have already started to reach toward his heart. He knows he must stop this senseless sprouting of emotion before it even begins. He'd never been prone to flights of emotional fancy, but there was something about _her._

He steps out of the cabin into the cold night air and breathes deep, trying to slow his racing mind which won't stop speeding toward her. All of Haven is celebrating their small victory over the Breach; it has stopped expanding. She fainted with the effort of it, after battling gloriously against an overly powerful Pride demon which should have killed them all (the irony that their first tough battle should be against Pride is not lost on him).

Solas nearly screams in frustration as the first thing his eyes land on when he steps through the threshold is her. Her alabaster hair has been set free of its bun, and it's hanging loosely around her shoulders. In the time since she's awoken, someone has retrieved a set of Qunari armor for her from her mercenary group's camp, and the fabric and ropes cling to her body while exposing more than it protects. Solas has noticed the scars mar more than her face, fine nicks and cuts are present on her arms and stomach.

He's also noticed how she is careful about how she moves through their world - a world sized for those smaller than her - without complaint or entitlement. She automatically adjusts to make others comfortable: bending so they can hold quiet conversations, standing further away so they can look her in the eye without having to crane their necks, tucking her long legs out of pathways, ducking to make it through human-sized doorways. Even now, as she squats outside of The Singing Maiden and leans toward Varric as he speaks, she's doing it.

The dwarf says something funny because her laughter rings clear across the pathway to his ears. Solas wishes he was the cause of it, and then he immediately shoves that thought away. _No_.

She must sense his eyes on her because she takes a drink from her large tankard and her eyes slide his way. Even in the torchlight he feels the moment their eyes meet, and he watches as she shyly dips her head to look away and takes another sip of her drink as Varric tells a story.  He forces his eyes away and moves to the side of his cabin, leaning against it.

His eyes are closed now, trying to squeeze out the sight of her, but it is useless. His mind only supplies him with images of her bright amethyst eyes, half-lidded with pleasure, and imagined gasps of his name. Were he to enter the Fade now, Desire would surely tempt him, and he's not sure he's strong enough to resist. He senses her before she speaks, the thrumming heat of the mark and the unique way the Veil warps for her as a mage is a shining beacon calling out to him, but he hopes if he appears to be lost in thought she will leave. No such luck.

"Solas?" she asks, her voice rising in a unique lilt.

"Yes?" his traitorous eyes open, falling on her form. She takes his response as an invitation because she moves across from him, leaning against the low wall for support as she stretches out her long legs. The movement puts her at eye level, and he wonders if she has practiced putting people at ease or if it's her instinct to do so.

She's clutching her tankard tightly, the tension in her hand belying the ease with which she's moving. "Umm," she hesitates. Her cheeks have pinkened, and he's unsure if it's the drink or the fact she's trying to speak with him. "Would you like to join me - me and Varric - for a drink?"

"No."

The reply sounds harsh even to his own ears. He wishes he could take it back as he watches her face fall, and she nervously pushes a strand of hair behind one pointed ear. "O-okay," she whispers. "Well, have a good night, then."

_Good_ , he thinks, as she pushes herself away from the low wall and turns to leave him. _Good. Go. Don't get close. Don't like me. Don't let me like you. _"I don't like crowds." _Nononono._ What was his traitorous mouth doing? Why was his brain betraying him?

She hesitates, then, and settles back against the wall. Her tankard is placed gently on top of it, and Solas realizes she's going to be here a while. _Fenedhis._

"Tell me about yourself," she requests softly.

"Why?" It's defensive and short, another failed effort to keep her at a distance, because although her eyebrows raise and she rubs at the gnarly scar on her cheek to hide her discomfort she doesn't just walk away.

"Because we're going to be fighting at one another's side, trying to close the Breach and save the world. We really should know a little about one another, don't you think?"

He has the incredible sensation of standing on a precipice in that moment. He can turn around and walk away, back to safety and the cloak of enigmatic antisocial apostate, or he can plunge headfirst into _knowing_ and _being known_ ; the latter is a dangerous choice full of jagged rocks and churning waters. He leaps.

"I'm sorry. I'm not good with… people. It's been years since I've interacted with another living being," he apologizes before he can stop himself. Her face softens.

"No one says you have to be good at everything," she teases lightly, one shoulder raised in a half-shrug, and a crooked smile appearing on her face. He can't help but smile at the light jab; she's effectively put him at ease. "Where are you from?"

"The north." Not a lie. The village he grew up in no longer exists, wiped away when Elvhenan fell, wiped away by the creation of the Veil. But half-truths are easier than lies. He doesn't want to lie to her. Not outright. "It was… a very small village. I doubt you'll have heard of it." She accepts his rather vague answer without question. She takes a sip of her ale, as if waiting for him to continue, but he has nothing more to say. "You?"

"All over," she replies equally vague. "Once my parents escaped the Qun, they joined up with the Valo-Kas. Staying on the move keeps tal-vashoth like most of our group safe, so we traveled most of Thedas, except the Imperium, Par Vollen, and Seheron, of course. I was born in the Valo-Kas."

"Aren't you tal-vashoth?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.

"No," she answers. "I'm vashoth. Not raised in the Qun. A very small distinction but one which has a hope of me staying alive if the Qun ever catches up to me. They'd give me a chance to convert, most likely. After all, it's not my fault my parents defected."

"I see." The silence is heavy between them, and she takes the moment to drain her tankard dry; Solas has the distinct impression she's chasing away memories or dark thoughts or _something_.

"I need another one. Are you sure you don't want something? Varric's treat," she offers with a crooked grin.

The idea of getting one up on Varric is difficult to resist, and Solas finds himself saying "oh, alright. Just one." before he can resist.

 

* * *

 

He has no idea how many drinks either of them have had. He has no idea what time it is. The moon hangs high in the sky surrounded by stars, but everything is slightly hazy due to the eerie green glow of the Breach nearby. The village has gone quiet. He is _drunk_.

They have melted into the earth, lying beside his cabin in the snow, staring up at the sky. Between the warming magic they've both been using and the heat of the alcohol neither of them are cold, but they are _wet_. The snow thawed hours ago, and there will certainly be two people-shaped indentions in the mud.

Solas can't bring himself to care.

They've been talking for hours. He has memorized the sound of her voice, the tinkle of her laugh, the way she gasps for breath when she's caught in an endless fit of giggles. He told her about the Fade and his adventures, and she listened in wide-eyed wonder and asked questions. She's told him about her mercenary company and their jobs. He stopped caring hours ago about maintaining his distance. He is _happy_.

"Solas," she sighs, and he can tell by her tone things are about to get serious. He stops trying to play connect-the-dots with the stars so he can focus, and his brow furrows with the sudden shift in tone. "Have you ever… faced a demon? In the Fade, I mean. Obviously you have here, but… there, where it's dangerous and if you lose."

"Yes," he answers truthfully. She shifts beside him, rolls over on her side to look at him. Somehow, mud has made its way to her nose and he reaches out to wipe it away without a thought after he rolls on his side to face her.

"Weren't you afraid of losing?"

"I have spent so much time in the Fade, I have developed techniques for protecting myself. Why?"

She licks her lips and looks away. "I'm scared," she admits with a shuddering breath. "There's not going to be a trial, now, but the Chantry moves with opinion on a whim. What if - when all of this is over - they reinstate Circles and put me in one? I'm an apostate; I've never been Harrowed. What if they make me go through a Harrowing? Koslun's balls, Solas, I've never been trained. Every spell I cast is something we figured out on our own or something my parents learned in trade for service. I have no idea what I'm doing and I… I don't want to become an abomination. I don't want to be made tranquil."

"You're the Herald of Andraste-" he begins, but she interrupts him with a snort.

"For now. For now they believe I'm someone important, but you and I both know I'm no Chosen One - that whatever happened is not some product of Divine providence. They won't listen to what I say, now, and they see meaning where there is none. When they accept the truth, will I be punished as a false prophet? How will they rewrite history to fit their narrative?" Her voice is trembling by the time she's done, and she moves to her back again and breathes deep as she closes her eyes. He recognizes it for what it is - an attempt to stymie the rising panic.

"I'm sorry. The liquor has made my tongue loosen. I just… I just wanted to ask if you would train me… in how to defend myself from demons in the Fade. There's so much more I want to learn, but I understand if you don't want to… you've been kind to me, so far, and I thought maybe you wouldn't mind teaching a beast like me."

"Don't say that!" He shoves himself up to sitting position too quickly and the world spins as he hears Adan call from his cabin, "By Andraste's tits, shut up!" He was apparently louder than he thought he was. She looks up at him her eyes wide and round with surprise. "You're not a beast. You are kind and honorable and brave and-" _beautiful_ "drunk. We are both very drunk." He hides his close call with a chuckle which she answers with her own laugh. "But I'll teach you. I'll teach you anything you want to know."

She nods and sits up. "I'm not _that_ drunk, you know," she protests. She stands smoothly and without hesitation, and Solas thinks she must hold her liquor well. She holds out a hand for him and he takes it without hesitation. It is warm and soft in most places. The callouses from years of holding a staff are noticeable, and Solas wonders why she never wore gloves. She pulls him to his feet firmly and he stumbles against her - partly because he _is_ that drunk and partly because she seems to have forgotten her own strength.

They hold one another's hands for perhaps a bit longer than they should; Solas is still leaning against her warmth slightly. She is soft in spite of all her muscles, and Solas finds his mind is wandering to the very things he had been trying to suppress. He sways away from her and drops her hand abruptly. "Good night, Herald," he says tersely.

"Good night, Solas," she says. She spins to head to her cabin and lets out a soft curse. "Dammit, Varric." He watches as she makes her way to the tavern, picks up what he can only assume is the prone figure of Varric, and tosses him over her shoulder.

"Everything okay?" he calls.

"Yeah. He's an idiot, but it's okay," she grumbles as she gathers up the dwarf's crossbow as if it weighed nothing. "Get some rest… and drink some water."

"Last warning," Adan calls from his cabin. "Shut the bloody hell up." She gives Solas one last smirk before disappearing into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas is completely and totally over his obsession with Taashathi. Just ask him.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _She must think they've gone far enough for their voices to not carry because she stops to lean against a large tree. Taashathi is silent for a few long minutes before she says so softly he almost doesn't hear it, "have I done something to offend you?"_
> 
> _"No." The answer is short and sweet, and he hopes that will be the end of it. He hasn't meant to upset her, and while he shouldn't care if he has, he finds himself inexplicably concerned. Perhaps his sentimentality hasn't been as efficiently crushed as he'd thought._
> 
> _"Really? Because it seems…" she trails off, swallowing the rest of the statement. The anchor flares momentarily and she almost hides the way her breathing picks up and the subtle flex of her hand. If it weren't for the fact it was his magic, he might have missed the signs. "There must be a rift nearby."_
> 
> _He very nearly reaches for her hand, very nearly offers to soothe the pain, but he stops himself. "It seems likely, yes," he offers as a mild apology. Talking about magic is safe, neutral territory._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solas was a struggle in this chapter. He was very... one-track minded and I kept trying to fight that to reign him in and it did not work. As such, this fic has been upgraded from M to E. I've already started working on Chapter 3, and it's all better now that he got it out of his system. Probably. Most likely.
> 
> * * *
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [enigmalea](http://enigmalea.tumblr.com). Feel free to follow me, stalk me, or send me an ask (it's always open). [Click here](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/post/185117840754) for instructions on how to submit a prompt and [here](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/tagged/my-drabbles) to read completed prompts. I'll eventually collect them and post them on AO3.
> 
> I've created a discord server for Dragon Age fanfic writers, betas, and readers to all come together to talk about fics they're reading/writing or want to read/write. Feel free to join me at [The Hanged Man](https://discordapp.com/invite/8FsBN4p)! (Please note the server is NSFW and 18+ only.)

He has managed to curb the sentimental urges which had been threatening to overtake him just a few weeks before. Fatigue and adrenaline have worked to suppress his baser desires, and the more he has seen of Taashathi in action, the less he has been drawn to her. That's not her fault, really, and it's for the best.

She is almost too soft-spoken, too eager to please, too willing to do anything to get on someone's good side. Simply put, she's not a leader. Not yet. She desperately wants to be liked and accepted, and it makes her a little too willing to bend. He fears she'll learn her lesson soon enough.

But it isn't his place to speak up, and certainly not while he's too tired to fully chew the roast rabbit Scout Harding has provided for them. It has been long weeks on the road in a saddle, and he hasn't been on a horse in long millennia. His body aches with the effort of it, deep down, in a way that potions and magic don't seem to help. He's not the only one who feels it; in fact, of the small party which has formed only Cassandra seems perfectly comfortable with riding as much as they are.

As if the riding wouldn't be enough to exhaust them all, they are constantly fighting bandits, apostates, and rogue Templars. There's been hunting and recruiting and tracking down medicine; seeking out lost caches, stumbling upon red lyrium, recruiting a horse master, activating his artifacts, solving puzzles they've named astrariums. Every favor asked of the Herald is done, without hesitation and Solas knows it is too much. Perhaps Taashathi is only doing this now because she has the power, but it's not sustainable.

Varric laughs loudly at one of his own stories, and Solas is pulled from his introspection abruptly. He frees the last bit of meat from the thigh bone and pops it into his mouth. He waits for the story to fully end before exaggerating the yawn which escapes him. "I think it's time for me to head to bed," he says without preamble.

"Ahhhh, Chuckles. Just because you're _old_ doesn't mean you have to go to bed early," the dwarf teases.

Solas has never mentioned his age (why would he?) but they've all easily assumed he'd the oldest by at least half a decade. He's not sure if Varric continuously brings it up to try to goad him or if he's fishing for information to try to get something on him. Either way, Solas doesn't take the bait; he simply offers a good-humored smile and says softly, "when you're my age, Varric, we can talk about whether or not you'd like to go to bed a little earlier after a long day fighting bandits and Templars and apostates."

"Solas?" Her voice is still soft and melodic and even though he isn't obsessed with her any longer, there is something about the way she says his name which causes his heart rate to pick up. He wants to scream in frustration. "Can I speak with you a moment in private? It won't take long."

"Of course, Herald." Her face falls subtly as he uses her formal title, but she pulls herself from the ground and leads him away from the fire. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the low-light; elves are not as prone to night-blindness and it seems, from the agile way she moves, that neither are qunari. She is moving slower than he could, though, and he files away the information _just in case_.

She must think they've gone far enough for their voices to not carry because she stops to lean against a large tree. Taashathi is silent for a few long minutes before she says so softly he almost doesn't hear it, "have I done something to offend you?"

"No." The answer is short and sweet, and he hopes that will be the end of it. He hasn't meant to upset her, and while he shouldn't care if he has, he finds himself inexplicably concerned. Perhaps his sentimentality hasn't been as efficiently crushed as he'd thought.

"Really? Because it seems…" she trails off, swallowing the rest of the statement. The anchor flares momentarily and she almost hides the way her breathing picks up and the subtle flex of her hand. If it weren't for the fact it was his magic, he might have missed the signs. "There must be a rift nearby."

He very nearly reaches for her hand, very nearly offers to soothe the pain, but he stops himself. "It seems likely, yes," he offers as a mild apology. Talking about magic is safe, neutral territory.

"Did I say or do something while we were drinking… or have I… if my flirting bothers you, I can stop."

"You've been flirting?" the question barely squeaks out, high-pitched and terrified and Solas is thankful that even with good night vision she won't be able to see the pink that tinges his cheeks and his ear tips.

"Ahhhh… yeah, badly, it seems," she replies softly, "if you couldn't even tell."

The silence is thick as Solas weighs what to say. "It doesn't bother me," he begins. He hears her shift slightly, and he refuses to look. "But it is… best… if we remain strictly professional. The world is watching the Herald of Andraste; it would not do for her to consort with a heretical Elvhen apostate."

"Even when she's a heretical Qunari apostate?" Her tone is light, but he knows he's hurt her. There it is again, his old friend, regret.

"Perhaps especially when."

"Alright," she agrees, but her tone is clipped and Solas can feel the subtle shift of the energy around her. It is heavy with disappointment. He wants to squeeze his eyes shut and just stop this here and now, to lay down and re-enter uthenera; it would be so easy to enter the Fade and just _forget_. The world has been this way so very long, and it won't last forever; the Veil is failing anyway, weakening and tearing like a decades-old garment with every catastrophe. Let the future deal with the Evanuris. "Now that we're both on the same very professional and appropriate page… do you think you might be able to make eye contact with me?"

"Pardon?"

"You've been avoiding eye contact for weeks, now," she answers, shifting again. He manages to glance at her as she speaks; in the low light, he sees her removing the pins which hold her tightly wound bun in place, watches as she runs her fingertips over her scalp, and absently scratches at the base of one of her horns. "It's obvious enough Varric said something to me about it."

"I wasn't avoiding looking at-"

"Bullshit," she says softly, and Solas flinches. He isn't used to being so blatantly confronted, and he certainly isn't expecting it from _her_. Perhaps he's misjudged her.

She shifts again, moving away from the tree and tries to stretch out her lower back. The arching motion calls attention to her breasts, and Solas feels his mouth dry up, his pulse quicken, his mind supplying him with images of her arching back to meet his thrusts-

_Fenedhis_.

"I'm sorry," he strangles out, and he's not sure whether he's apologizing for his sudden indiscretion, the desire which has roared to life regardless of how exhausted he is, or for the fact he's been avoiding looking at her and used it to delude himself into thinking he's regained control.

"No," she says firmly, "I'm sorry. I know you say I didn't make you uncomfortable, but maybe it was subconscious. I'll try to be more careful." _Please don't._ She shrugs and turns to face him. "Anyway, you said you would teach me about fighting demons in the Fade… and I still want to learn that… but also… earlier today, you… you managed to… you went invisible? Or… not solid? You passed through a demon and that could be useful."

"You want me to teach you to Fade Step?" he asks, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

"Is that what it's called?" she asks. "Yes… I'd like that. I'd like you to show me whatever you're willing."

Solas instantly thinks of a few things he'd like to show her which could _never_ be used on a battlefield. He's been staring and he pointedly looks away, wills his heart to slow, reminds himself that he needs to maintain his distance; he is here solely to reclaim the Orb and the Anchor, to take what's rightfully his and restore the world to its natural state. "Of course," he agrees. "Once we return to Haven. It would be difficult in the field."

"Thank you," she replies sweetly. She moves again, placing her palms against the small of her back and massages lightly. He tries not to watch as she moves her hands lower, onto her buttocks, before giving up the attempt. With a heavy sigh, she begins to massage out her thighs.

"I can help." His voice is husky with desire and the sound is obvious to his own ears. He wonders if she hears it, if his traitorous body and mind have given him away; if so, she makes no comment, gives no indication.

"You don't have to-"

But he's already moved to her, his staff is already abandoned against the tree, and his hands are already warming with healing magic without him even thinking about it. His palms press into the small of her back; her skin is soft and supple and _warm,_ the heat radiating from it nearly rivals his magically heated hands. He is trying not to think about how he barely comes up to her shoulder and how that would make it difficult to do things he normally does for his lovers: press kisses to the back of their neck, wrap his arms around them as he pulls them flush against his body, run his hand down their chest and stomach to plunge between their thighs.

His hands are shaking slightly as he begins to massage out the tension gathered in her back. The sound she makes sends a thrill down his spine and causes his heart to pound again even though he'd just willed it back to normal. He closes his eyes, ignoring how his hands are shaking (can she feel it?), as he pushes against a particularly tense knot. She moans as it releases and he freezes, his eyes opening wide as the sound echoes in his ears. He can't stop himself from pressing against the knot again, and she rewards him with another moan, soft and sweet.

Does she know what she's doing to him?

He half suspects she does, the way her back arches and breath quickens. He pushes the healing magic through her, as he thinks about pressing himself into her. "Is one side worse than the other?" he asks. There is no hiding his arousal, now from either of them. If he were a more sensible man, he'd be more embarrassed at the sound of his voice, but he is past the point of sensibility.

She inhales sharply before responding and her voice is shaky. "Y-yes… the right." His left arm curls around her palm flat against the hard plains of her stomach, as he slides his right down to the curve of her ass. He can feel the knotted muscle deep under the skin, and he curls his fist and presses a knuckle against it hard. She cries out, the sound she makes is half-moan and half-scream, and her right leg buckles as the muscle knot releases. She collapses into his arm and he can barely support her, so he pulls her close. There is no hiding his arousal from her now, not when it is pressed against her.

"Better?" he asks, barely stopping himself from nipping at her shoulder blade. His hand is flat against the roundness of her ass as he pushes soothing heat and healing magic into it. She nods in response, slowly, reluctantly. He feels her stand on her own, slowly, and releases her. He adjusts himself in his robes, shame filling him at his actions. What had he been thinking? That hadn't been necessary, and he'd overstepped the boundaries he'd _just_ set. "I… I really should take my leave," he manages, reaching for his staff as if it were a lifeline.

Her voice is small when she answers, desire mixed with some other emotion he can't place clouding her tone, "of course, Solas. Good night."

"Good night."

 

* * *

 

Solas is more than aware he shouldn't be doing this, but he can't bring himself to care as he pushes into her mouth. The _spirit_ wearing Taashathi's face is staring up at him with a beatific expression, clearly enjoying feeding off his desire as much as he is enjoying enacting it. His hand cups her cheek, thumb rubbing gently over the high cheekbones. His fingers curl around to the back of her skull as he bottoms out.

The moan that escapes him as he feels her throat contract as she swallows is profane. Shame floods him, mingling with desire, twisting into something dark and dirty.

He fucks her mouth with wild abandon, unable to restrain himself the way he would were this the real Taashathi. The Spirit gags appropriately, struggling to keep up with his thrusts, her tongue working over him as she increases the suction of her mouth; he knows the reaction is spurred by his own expectations, but it doesn't stop him from enjoying it perversely anyway.

The sight of her on her knees taking him in is nearly too much, and Solas finds himself nearing the edge too quickly, the pleasure building not only from the things her lovely mouth and lips and tongue are doing to him but also from the display of her doing it.

"Fenedhis," he hisses as he spills into her mouth and she takes it all, moaning around him as his fingers curl into her skull, nails digging into her scalp.

Her lips pull off him with a _pop_ and she grins up at him like the wolf which had caught the halla. It sends a shudder through his system. "Your desire for her runs deep," she says softly.

Solas huffs noncommittally as she rises to her feet to tower over him. She claims his lips, her tongue plunging into his mouth. He whimpers involuntarily, tasting himself on her as she kisses him causes his desire to swell again, and the Spirit grins down at him in triumph. "Your denial is futile. I can sense it," she exhales against his lips.

He can't help but curse at the ability of the Fade which allows him to begin to fill again nearly instantly. He is trying desperately to temper his desire, but now that he has indulged it, he cannot trap it behind a dam. For just a moment he is afraid he is in over his head, that this demon may become _too_ powerful feeding on his desire. "I can control it," he whispers as she pulls him close. His thigh slips between her legs, presses into the wetness gathered there, and he realizes what a terrible lie it is.

"You want to do so much to her… to me," she moans huskily.

"Yes," Solas agrees.

"Do it," she whispers, "do it all."

Solas is helpless to deny, helpless to refuse. He falls to his knees, burying his face between her legs, moaning as he begins to pleasure her. He knows at that moment all of his thoughts of maintaining his distance are for naught; he is already damned to the Void because of this woman and nothing will be able to save him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings... talking about feeeeeeelings.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _"So, Solas," he begins casually, "what do you think of the Boss?"_
> 
> _"I rarely do." The words sound forced even to his own ears._
> 
> _"Yeah?" Bull asks. "Shame. She's hot, right? Those legs that go for days only to end on that tight ass. Those tits that are more than a handful for even me… and have you thought about what those full lips could do to-"_
> 
> _"This is hardly appropriate," Solas interrupts. He has flushed from his neck to his ear tips and can feel the heat radiating from his skin, as his mind flies through his fantasies from the past few months._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You get another chapter while I attempt to wrangle a muse for one of my long-fics. She has run off and must be hunted like the apostate she is. Updates normally won't be this quick, I swear, so feel spoiled.
> 
> * * *
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [enigmalea](http://enigmalea.tumblr.com). Drop me drabble prompts in my ask. [Click here](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/post/185117840754) for instructions on how to submit one, and [here](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/tagged/my-drabbles) to read completed prompts.
> 
> You can also find me on Discord at [The Hanged Man](https://discordapp.com/invite/8FsBN4p), which focuses on DA fanfic and is for readers, writers, and betas alike! (Please note the server is NSFW and 18+ only.)

Taashathi Adaar is a force of nature on the battlefield. She summons fire and electricity with brutality and precision Solas has rarely witnessed. He has seen her fell enemy after enemy without flinching, has watched in horror as a warrior's sword barely glances off her skin with the aid of his hastily cast barrier and she lifts the man by his neck - in full mail - to slam him on the ground without mercy. It's difficult to remember what an unfortunate thing it is to find oneself her enemy in the quiet moments.

Like now.

He has found her sitting on the edge of the dock, a mug of hot cider next to her as she devours a bowl of porridge. She is watching the sunrise quietly, the expression on her face introspective. He sighs softly to himself as he moves to join her, his own bowl of porridge and mug of cider warming his hands against the cold morning air.

They have returned to Haven from Val Royeaux with two new agents who have pledged themselves to their cause. Sera was vocal about her attraction to Taashathi - a fact which had caused her to blush faintly and flirt in return. He was unsettled by the instant flare of jealousy which tightened in his chest before he realized their personalities were like oil and water. The Vashoth mage seems to like the archer well enough, but he can't imagine them as a couple.

Sera grates his nerves with her boisterous speech and close-mindedness, but he reminds himself she is simply _young_ ; Vivienne, on the other hand, is haughty and stuck-up. She reminds him of Mythal's worst qualities, particularly when she sees Taashathi is quiet in nature and picks at her about her casting technique, her sometimes unrefined use of magic, and her choice in clothing. Taashathi takes it in stride and simply asks Vivienne for advice, which the Circle mage eats up; still, there are times Solas simply wants to punch her in her smug face - not that he ever would.

"Andaran atish'an," he says, as he joins her on the edge of the dock. She gives him a smile which warms his heart.

"Good morning," she replies brightly. The silence which falls between them is not uncomfortable and both of them are content to let it stand; Solas is listening to the soft chirps of birds awakening, and the quiet snorts of nugs nearby.

"I don't think I said thank you," she says quietly.

Solas is taken off-guard. Whatever he was expecting her to say, it wasn't that. "For?"

She shifts uncomfortably as she glances at him. He can almost feel her gaze, the way her eyes appraise him. He has learned that her desire, her attraction to him, is quiet and cautious, much like everything else she does - save fight. She has stuck to her word since their talk in the woods and her flirting has all but ceased. In some ways, Solas is grateful for it; after his night with the _Spirit,_ he has been more able to control his impulses, but he misses the subtle ways she hinted she wanted him.

Taashathi avoids answering immediately by taking a drink of her cider and finishing her porridge, but she finally sets the bowl aside. "I feel like I'm always thanking you," she muses, "since the moment I woke up. You saved my life; you've helped me become a better mage. I… I don't know what I would do if you weren't here."

"I think you'd do just fine. You have Vivienne, after all."

She snorts with her chuckle and Solas can't help but laugh as she playfully shoves him. "I'm serious, Solas. I'm trying to thank you for… letting me be me. You have no expectations of me, you seem to want nothing but to help. Everyone else expects something."

Solas' heart drops into his stomach. _The Anchor. I want the Anchor and the Orb,_ he thinks. His expression turns serious, but if she notices she doesn't say anything.

"Cassandra expects me to be the Herald, some mythical creature with all the answers; Varric - for all his insistence otherwise - expects me to be a hero, and I'm not sure I am. Vivienne expects a polished noble; Sera a mischievous partner ready to stick it to the man. Josephine wants a diplomat, Leliana an assassin, and Cullen a leader. I have to be all of these things for all of these people, but with you… with you, I can just be Taashathi. You have no idea how much that means to me."

He inhales sharply and tries to hide it, his overeager brain searching for meaning likely not intended. Is it possible he has not spurned her advances too much? Is it possible she is still interested? He forces himself to stop thinking like a child and to take her words at their value. She appreciates his friendship, that is all.

"I'm glad I can offer you something of value," he says.

She nods. Out of the corner of his eyes, he swears her hand twitches as if she's going to reach for his, and she sways slightly as if she might lean her head on his shoulder. She stops herself; he can _see_ it in the way she suddenly goes stiff, the way she closes her eyes and counts to three, the way she inhales and exhales shakily. He aches, suddenly, and curses his earlier insistence they remain professional and distant.

"I could… I could use your help again," she says, and Solas follows the subtle shift of her gaze to the Breach. "They're all expecting me to make a decision, soon, to seek help from the mages or the Templars. As much as I want to know why in the Void Lord Seeker Lucius punched a Chantry mother in the back of the head… I am terrified to go waltzing into a Templar fortress and demanding explanations. I'm not Andrastian or human and I'm a mage," she whispered.

"I believe those are all valid concerns," he begins, but before he can continue, she cuts him off.

"And I'm not nearly as smart as you or Vivienne when it comes to magic… I barely know… anything… but I don't think me shoving mana at the Breach while the Templars try to negate its magic is going to do much of anything. I've been running around for a couple of months sealing rifts by throwing magic at them."

"It is true," he confirms, "that you've been throwing magic at rifts and sealing them, not that you are not knowledgeable about magic. You have an instinct which-"

"Serves fine in the field, but I don't know why things work or how. I'm just… playing with things I don't understand," she interrupts.

Solas frowns a bit at the way she subtly insults herself and resolves to change the subject quickly. He has been eating his breakfast slowly as they talked, and he sets the bowl aside before continuing. "Taashathi, it seems you have already decided to ask the mages for assistance over the Templars," he says, "so why ask me for my opinion, when you already know it will mirror your own? You know I have more faith in magic than I could ever have in a deity."

"Because," her voice cracks and her shoulders slump. It is obvious she has been holding it together through sheer will, "because I need to know if I'm wrong… if I fail and make things worse… there is at least one person who won't hate me."

"Oh," he exhales softly. "I could never… I don't believe the others would…"

His eyes are drawn to her as she wipes at her face stubbornly. Solas is taken aback at the fact she's crying. The last few months she has seemed so resilient, other than the admission she was scared to end up in a Circle. He hesitates but slowly reaches out to wrap an arm around her, his hand moving to rest on her waist. She collapses against him suddenly, her strong arms enveloping him as she leans against his shoulders. Even now, she is conscious of her horns, and he can feel her holding herself up so that she doesn't crush him with her weight.

"It's okay," he says softly, his other hand moving to wipe at the tears which aren't soaking into his tunic. His words seem to give her permission to relax because she sinks against him suddenly as the sobs begin to wrack her body.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm so sorry. I'm not cut out for this. I'm not a leader. I've never had to be. The most important decision I've ever made is what to wear or what to eat, and now… the fate of the world rests on me and I am not… I am not smart enough or strong enough or powerful enough to do this. I'm trying so hard, and I just… I just… I _can't_." Solas is at a loss for what to say, for how to reassure her. He realized long ago, Taashathi was too soft, too caring, to take on the weight of the world. "I'm all alone," she whimpers, "and I don't want to be alone."

_Alone_. The word pulls at something primal in him and he hugs her closer, pulling her head against his chest as he futilely attempts to wipe away her tears with his thumb, trying to reassure her that he is here, at least for now. The words have dried up, his own heart twisting painfully at her fears mirroring his. He presses a kiss to the top of her head, between her horns, into the soft white hair. "I'm here," he whispers softly, "and I will be here with you until we see this through."

It's the most he can offer.

"Thank you, Solas. Once again," she says chuckling through her tears.  
  


* * *

 

Solas does not like the Iron Bull. He can't miss the appraising looks the man gives Taashathi or the way his eyes linger on her form; no one can miss the suggestive comments he throws her way. But unlike Sera, the Iron Bull is charming and intelligent, and he quietly offers his support to Taashathi in ways which makes Solas' heart jump into his throat. The first time he catches Adaar returning the appraising gazes, Solas thinks he might throw up.

He tries to convince himself it is for the best, that he doesn't need the complication, that this way he can focus on their goal, on _his_ goal, without worrying for Taashathi's feelings. Yet, when he walks in on them whispering heatedly about something and they quickly stop the conversation once they notice him, his face burns with the shame of his jealousy as he quickly excuses himself.

Dorian is nearly as bad. The man can't seem to not flirt with everyone, and Taashathi eagerly returns his flirtatious banter. Solas is certain Dorian prefers the company of men, and yet, that doesn't seem to slow him down at all. If Taashathi is serious at all in returning his affections, she is going to be hurt. The fact he can see it coming makes him _angry_.

So, he keeps to himself, avoids mingling as much as he can, and tries not to dwell on how close they are to completing their goal. The mages are ready, and the eight of her closest agents are prepared to ride to the Breach when Taashathi gives the word. Their goal is nearly complete and with a little more time, Solas will be able to take the Anchor for himself and take back his focus from the upstart usurper.

And yet, here they are, riding into the Hinterlands, _yet again_ , to hunt some mage or Templar or something for Cassandra and some Venatori for Dorian, rather than closing the Breach. The Inquisition is starting to get restless. If Taashathi still valued his opinion he would have spurred her into action; however, he fears that is no longer the case. He barely refrains from rolling his eyes as he watches the Iron Bull slow his horse slightly, so they are eventually riding side-by-side; his jaw clenches in irritation and he knows the Ben Hassrath agent has seen it.

"So, Solas," he begins casually, "what do you think of the Boss?"

"I rarely do." The words sound forced even to his own ears.

"Yeah?" Bull asks. "Shame. She's hot, right? Those legs that go for days only to end on that tight ass. Those tits that are more than a handful for even _me_ … and have you thought about what those full lips could do to-"

"This is hardly appropriate," Solas interrupts. He has flushed from his neck to his ear tips and can feel the heat radiating from his skin, as his mind flies through his fantasies from the past few months.

"Thought you might say that," Iron Bull rumbles. Solas' dislike for the man deepens with every word he says. Bull goes silent and the tension is thick. "Shit," he mumbles so quietly Solas nearly doesn't hear it. "Look, she doesn't want me to say anything, but she _likes_ you… a lot… and she's too scared to say anything because she's convinced you don't think she's attractive because she's Vashoth, but this thing… closing the Breach… it might kill her, right? And I just thought if you felt the same way you should probably tell her before it's too late."

Solas has been stunned into silence. He can feel the weight of Iron Bull's one-eyed gaze on him, but he can't quite meet it. "I thought qunari didn't believe in attachments such as this."

"Yeah, well, neither of you are qunari and shit like this is important to bas, right?" Iron Bull asks. "Anyway, just something for you to think about." And as if he has casually invited Solas to lunch, the massive warrior spurs his horse to catch up to Cassandra's, where (judging by the sound which escapes her) he makes some lewd comment.  
  


* * *

 

The Breach is a horrific thing up close; even not fearing what will happen when the Veil falls, the poorly catastrophic way in which Corypheus managed to begin the process will surely be the ruin of Thedas, and Solas can't help but feel dread when near it. A bit ironic, really.

Taashathi has convinced herself she is ready; they have closed all the rifts they could sense in the Hinterlands and Crestwood and the Storm Coast and the Fallow Mire. In the last few weeks, she has massively improved her focus, gained a mastery of her newly found abilities, and deepened her mana pool significantly. In short, Taashathi has become an even more formidable mage and with the power and resources of the Inquisition behind her, she has come prepared to face her fate.

At least, Solas sincerely hopes she is.

They are standing together beneath the glowing green hole in the sky. They have all been studying and tweaking the ritual he and Dorian designed (a modified version of the one which created the Veil in the first place) for days, and the largest part of the burden falls on her- to work the mages' raw power into something which will stitch the Veil back together. If her focus wavers, she will not be successful.

She inhales sharply next to him, shaking herself from the trance she'd seemed to enter. "I think I'm going to be sick," she mumbles, where only he can hear.

"No time for that, Herald," he says firmly, "you have a world to save."

"And if I can't?"

"You _can_ ," he insists.

"But what if I fail?"

"I won't allow it," he says firmly. She looks down at him and smiles a bit in spite of her nerves. He aches to reach for her, but he won't - not with so many eyes on them. He bites back the urge to suddenly follow Bull's advice, to acknowledge how he feels, to tell her that she has come to mean a great deal to him and swallows hard. There is a chance, however small, that this will kill her. Her body and mind acting as foci for so much raw energy could very nearly destroy them. "Taashathi, I-"

Whatever it was he was going to say, he bites back as soon as Cassandra steps between them. If she has arrived, then everyone is in position. Taashathi's shocking violet eyes have become sad and fearful; the anchor flares and she swallows hard, giving him a nod to indicate she is ready.

He turns to the gathered Inquisition, calling out, "Mages, focus past the Herald. Let her will draw from you!"

She moves slowly into position, a look of determination on her face, and as Solas takes his position, he gives the signal. Vivienne's group of mages moves first, driving their staves into the ground with determination. The Anchor begins to glow brighter and Taashathi lets out a cry; for a moment, Solas hesitates, but he signals to Dorian to continue. As the second group of mages adds their power to the first, the wind roars around them and debris begins to arise. Taashathi waivers and Solas nearly calls it off. With a fierce scream of determination, she raises her palm to the sky, but nothing seems to happen. Solas is shaking with the raw power that surrounds him, with the mana flowing toward Taashathi; she is floundering with it, drawing it to her but not directing it outward through the Anchor, and he wonders what she is waiting for.

_It's me._

With the force of willpower he hasn't tapped into for millennia, he pulls the other mages' power to himself, channeling it down into something focused and sharp. His scream merges with hers as he drives his staff into the ground and takes a knee. He feels it the moment she takes the energy from him and adds her own to it. The air pressure shifts, becomes more oppressive, he can't breathe or think or move or _blink_ , and then, suddenly, the sky is willed together. The power erupts outward as the Breach seals with enough force they all are knocked back, even Bull (who they'd brought to help deal with any demons which manifested).

Every inch of his body aches and he is drained enough he thinks he can sleep for another thousand years, but he scrambles to his feet quickly, skidding to a halt on debris next to Taashathi's prone body. Cassandra helps her to her knees and then to her feet as Solas remembers what it is to breathe. "You did it," she tells the qunari softly. Taashathi turns to face the crowd as Cassandra raises her marked hand in triumph.

The shout which erupts from them pales in comparison to the joy Solas feels when Taashathi pulls him into her embrace and whispers, " _we_ did it. Thank you so much for your help. I couldn't have done it without you."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"We've found her." Cullen's voice startles him, and he blinks up at the Commander with confusion written on his face. "Leliana thought you would want to know."_
> 
> _Solas scrambles out of his bedroll quickly. "Take me to her, she'll need healing."_
> 
> _"There are other mages-" Cullen begins, and Solas gives him a glare which stops him in his tracks._
> 
> _"Take me to her, Commander, and find me lyrium potions," he demands. Cullen seems to visibly weigh the benefits of arguing with him, before he sighs heavily, and decides the argument is not worth it. He nods once and without another protest, Cullen leads him to the makeshift surgery which has been set up in the only structure they'd managed to erect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will (hopefully) be the last update for a while. I am going to spend some time updating my other works in progress (specifically Haven's Trouble) as long as I can get this muse to cooperate and go back in the box.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [enigmalea](http://enigmalea.tumblr.com). Drop me drabble prompts in my ask. [Click here](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/post/185117840754) for instructions on how to submit one, and [here](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/tagged/my-drabbles) to read completed prompts.
> 
> You can also find me on Discord at [The Hanged Man](https://discordapp.com/invite/8FsBN4p), which focuses on DA fanfic and is for readers, writers, and betas alike! (Please note the server is NSFW and 18+ only.)

"She's still alive!"

His proclamation is breathless and not nearly as energetic as it should be, but after hours of evacuation and healing refugees and diving deep into the Fade, it's a damn miracle he is able to drag himself before them. Cassandra, Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine turn to look at him, and he sees his own exhaustion mirrored on their face. He must look slightly worse, though, because Cassandra stands from her seat on the log she'd claimed to let him sit. He would normally have turned it down, but he's swaying on his feet, held up only by his staff.

"How can you be certain?" Cullen asks as he nearly collapses on the log.

"The Fade," he answers and he almost dissolves into a fit of giggles they won't understand. Too many times over these last few months that answer has been a complete farce, but in this instance it is legitimate. "The Mark… it is easily detectable in the Fade- like a beacon. I believe, if she had perished, the magical energies would have dissipated shortly after, but I was able to locate it in the Fade."

"Then where is she?" Cassandra demanded.

"It isn't that simple. Matters in the Fade rarely are. My best guess is she somehow ended up in the mine shafts under Haven, but where exactly she is, or where she will come out is…" he breaks off, his eyes going heavy as he sways slightly.

"Solas," Josephine says softly, "you can barely stay awake. You need some rest."

"There are soldiers who still need healing, and-"

"And Dorian, Vivienne, and Giselle can see to them for now," Cullen says softly.

"Then, allow me to lead the search for Taashathi. I-"

"Absolutely not," Leliana's tone is firm and strong. Solas is ashamed that something primal in him used to taking orders snaps to attention, but Cullen must have caught a glimpse of it in his face.

"To a bedroll. Now!" The other man says firmly. Solas is relieved when he manages to follow the order without protest.  
  


* * *

 

The Fade envelops him almost before his head hits the makeshift pillow and his eyes have fully closed. It has been many years since Solas has unintentionally entered the Fade, but it is not a surprise given how exhausted he is. He is used to war, to injury and chaos and loss, but there is no doubt that Taashathi's potential loss had hit him hard. He tried to delude himself into blaming his reaction on the potential loss of the Anchor, but when he'd found himself struggling to focus on healing the injured because he couldn't stop thinking of _her_ , he'd had to admit it was more than just the Anchor.

As a result, he'd _found_ her, still alive, weak but alive, and the search party was looking. It wasn't enough.

He is pacing as he thinks, wondering if and when they'll be able to locate her. His worry has begun to affect the Fade to transform it into something dark and ominous. As the storm clouds gather overhead, he lets out a cry of frustration. Time moves differently in the Fade, he has no idea how long it's been, but he has a sense it is _too_ long, and they are dangerously close to losing her.

He focuses on the Anchor and pulls himself to her. She is lying prone, somewhere dark. The Fade reflects her surroundings, but not with any sort of clarity he can use to actually find her. He coaxes her urgently to wake up and start moving, whispering gently into her ear "Taashathi, wake up. Please." It works which is both a triumph and a loss. Now that she is firmly out if the Fade, he can no longer speak with her, but he can _see_ the Anchor and that is some small comfort.

The rift catches him off-guard. He is so tense with concern he hasn't been paying attention to what is around him; although to be fair, even if he had been there, there is not much he could have done. There is a tremendous release of power from the Anchor, Solas can feel the shift in the Veil, can feel it twisting into a weapon of war which rips apart the demons. He's not sure how she's done that or what it is precisely and he's equal parts impressed and horrified. She stitches the Veil back together carefully and with the rift gone, the Anchor dims even more.

There is nothing he can do but wait and watch in silence, and he suddenly understands the frustration of those Spirits which become demons. He manages to guide her from catastrophe once or twice, to direct her away with whispers, from parts of the mineshaft which have collapsed. She emerges to the surface into a blizzard, and Solas' heart drops as she begins to move in the wrong direction. Taashathi is a fantastic navigator, but between her fatigue and injuries, she must not be thinking clearly as she doubles back on her path above ground. Either that or she fears they were not able to make it away in time and is searching for survivors.

"No!" he calls futilely, panic rising. "Taashathi, no. Turn around! Please turn around." She stops and tilts her head slightly, glancing back over her shoulder. For just a moment, Solas thinks she may abandon her search, but no… she continues on.

 _Nononono._ She is moving away from where the search party will be making it more difficult for them to find her. He needs more power and something which will force her toward them.

 _Wisdom_.

The thought is brief and quick, but in an instant, he is with his friend. Its area of the Fade is tranquil and well-guarded. Together they have carved out a place to speak and relax and observe. It smiles at the sight of him.

 _"Solas. It is good to see you, my friend. Are you enjoying being awake?"_ it says in Elvish, pulling the words from his head.

"I… I need your help." In his distress, Solas has spoken in Trade, which has become far more commonplace to him over the last year. If Wisdom notices, it says nothing. "I… I have a friend who is in trouble. I need to get a message to her from the Beyond. I need her to turn around and walk the other direction."

 _"Can you not tell her in the waking world?"_ Wisdom asks.

 _"We_ _… are apart,"_ he answers in Elvish. He swallows hard, crossing to the Spirit and taking its hands in his. " _Please, Wisdom. I am not strong enough alone to reach across the Veil to her."_

Its face contorts into an expression Solas is not used to seeing - confusion. _"Why do you want so badly to save someone who you don't believe is a person, lethal'len?"_

Solas inhales sharply; his heart has stopped beating and either leapt into his throat or been ripped straight out of his chest. He's not sure which. Either way, for a moment, Solas cannot breathe, cannot think, cannot answer. Every second he hesitates facing the truth puts her more in danger. He chokes out the words which shouldn't be so difficult for him to say, but only because doing so will save _her_. _"I was wrong. Please, Wisdom. Help me help her."_

" _Take me to her."  
_

 

* * *

 

Wisdom's hands in his are light and airy and still. He is shaking, fear and exhaustion causing his control to have slipped. It's a miracle he's not given into to the whims of the Fade, that he's still able to exert any of his will at all.

He is surprised when they manage to get her to stop with the sound of a wolf howling. It is too difficult to get full words across, but the feeling she should go the other direction seems to make it because Taashathi lets out a heavy sigh and begins trudging back in the other direction. She is smart and covers the ground quickly by walking in her own footsteps.

"Keep going. You're almost there," she encourages herself, even though she can't possibly know that. It seems Wisdom is offering thoughts of encouragement.

Solas isn't sure _why_ she continues to follow the eerie howls he's producing, whether she's running toward them or from them, but he doesn't care to question it, because it's working. Taashathi's movement has slowed, fighting against the blizzard and the high snowdrifts has taken a toll on her body, and when she finds their makeshift camp from earlier, she stops to rest. The wind is blowing too hard for her to be able to relight the fire, but the embers are still warm, and so she knows she's moving toward _someone_.

He can sense the brief flare of her mana as she takes the time to warm herself in a bid to stop frostbite. The brief rest seems to have done wonders. When the storm dies down a moment later, she begins moving again, much quicker than before.

It seems as if they are at it for hours, encouraging her to keep moving, producing the howls which spur her to move quicker, whispering words of hope. Solas is unsure how much time actually passes before he hears Cullen's voice clearly echo, "there! It's her!"

His eyes snap open in relief, taking in Wisdom's face as it smiles at him. _"She will be okay, then?"_

_"I believe so, Wisdom. Thank you for your assistance, lethal'lin."_  
  


* * *

 

"We've found her." Cullen's voice startles him, and he blinks up at the Commander with confusion written on his face. "Leliana thought you would want to know."

Solas scrambles out of his bedroll quickly. "Take me to her, she'll need healing."

"There are other mages-" Cullen begins, and Solas gives him a glare which stops him in his tracks.

"Take me to her, Commander, and find me lyrium potions," he demands. Cullen seems to visibly weigh the benefits of arguing with him, before he sighs heavily, and decides the argument is not worth it. He nods once and without another protest, Cullen leads him to the makeshift surgery which has been set up in the only structure they'd managed to erect.

 

* * *

 

"Solas?"

Taashathi's sweet voice pulls him from the Fade, and he snaps to, suddenly aware he has dozed off at her side. He and Mother Giselle had worked into the wee hours of the morning healing her and watching for signs of frostbite and hypothermia, and the older woman had finally given up her vigil in favor of sleep.

His right hand rests on her left forearm; his neck and back are stiff from the awkward position he'd taken on the stool. His neck cracks as he moves, turning to look at her; her amethyst eyes are bleary as she blinks up at him, but her coloring is good; her lips are no longer blue, her skin has regained its healthy glow.

He clears his throat. "Go back to sleep," he says softly. "You need your rest."

"You, too," she challenges defiantly. "How… how long have I…"

"Not long. A few hours, at most," he offers. He gives her forearm a squeeze and rubs his eyes. She nods weakly.

"Did… did everyone…"

Solas inhales sharply. He doesn't want to lie, but the truth could crush her. He swallows thickly and looks away from her, his thumb absently moving over her smooth skin. "The leadership of the Inquisition all made it- and all of your closest circle. The Chargers all made it; Harding and her scouts save for a few who were killed in the initial attack. Cullen has estimated," he pauses and steels himself to say the number, "perhaps six dozen soldiers and archers…" She gasps.

"It could have been worse," he assures her quickly. "Much worse. We were unprepared, so many of us without armor and weapons during the celebration… most of the villagers were saved, and-"

"Please stop," she says softly, and Solas lets the words trail off. He wants to reassure her, to help her see that she did well with troops and a leader which were not battle-tested; he wants to tell her that his own first defense was not nearly as successful. He can't bring himself to do anything but watch the expression of pain and sorrow flit across her face.

She shifts slightly, moving to take his hand in hers and intertwines their fingers together. His heart beats wildly in his chest as she opens her eyes to look at him. "Stay with me until I fall asleep," she requests softly, "and then get some rest. I mean this in the kindest way, Solas… you look like shit."

He chuckles in spite of himself and shifts the stool so that he can lean against the pole of the tent for support, all without letting go of her hand. "Goodnight, Taashathi."

"Sweet dreams, Solas."

 

* * *

 

He is surprised when he stirs again to see Taashathi is not only awake but also out of her cot. He watches in fascination as they sing a song to her in reverence and all but declare her god touched. It is clear she is embarrassed by the attention and wants to do nothing but hide away. She endures, however, her eyes meeting his across the crowd, and when it's over she seeks him out.

"Ah… Herald," he says softly, once again re-affirming the boundaries they'd had between them. "A moment of your time, please."

She raises an eyebrow but follows him away from the camp, where he lights the torch he'd set aside with Veilfire. "A kind woman, worth heeding," he says, referring to Mother Giselle. "Her kind understand the moments which unify a cause or fracture it. The Orb Corypheus carried, the power he used against you, it is Elvhen. Corypheus used the Orb to open the Breach; unlocking it must have caused the explosion which destroyed the Conclave. I do not yet know how Corypheus survived nor do I know how people will react when they learn of the Orb's origin."

He has agonized over his words and considered telling her the truth of it all: that it is _his_ Orb Corypheus carries, that it is _his_ fault she is marked, that he was once revered in Ancient Elvhenan as a God. He wants her to know the truth, to know him, to choose to help him. He is not foolish enough to believe that is what will happen. Taashathi is a good person, a better person by far than he, and she will undoubtedly do anything in her power to stop him. His subterfuge must continue. He must find a way to continue deceiving her, even as his conscious begs him to tell her the truth.

"Okay," she begins slowly. "So… what is it, and how do you know about it?"

"They were foci, used to channel ancient magics. I have seen such things in the Fade; old memories of older magic. Corypheus may think it Tevinter. His empire's magic was built on the bones of my People. Knowing or not, he risks our lives; I cannot allow it," he lies easily. Too easily. His brain screams at his deception, his heart protests him lying to _her_ , of all people.

"This whole mess is confusing. I can see how elves might be an easy target," she says softly.

"History would agree, but there are steps we can take to prevent such a distraction."

She nods slowly in agreement. "Whatever you need, Solas, I promise I will keep elves as safe as possible. I will make sure they do not learn of the Orb's past. You've done so much for me; I will do my best as the Herald of Andraste to make sure another Exalted March does not happen."

She is so sincere, so resolute, Solas' determination nearly breaks. "Thank you," he manages meekly. It is all he can say without spilling everything, without revealing his full hand, without showing her how terrible he really is. He inhales shakily and exhales slowly. "There… there is a fortress nearby; I saw it in the Fade. It has been home to many over the centuries, has been the site of many sieges and resistances, and yet, still it endures. The journey will not be an easy one, but I believe there, we can rebuild. My People called it Skyhold."

"Can you take us?" she asks hopefully.

"No," he says after a moment. " _You_ should lead us there, Herald."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was inspired by an idea in the lovely [DirThenera's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirthenera) Solavellan fic [Secrets from Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17853839) concerning Solas using the wolf sounds present in the game to help guide the Inquisitor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I have acquired a great many skills, Inquisitor," he replies smoothly._
> 
> _"I hope, one day, I'll have the opportunity to sample them all," she answers archly._
> 
> _He nearly drops the books at the suggestive lilt of her voice, the tone which goes straight through him, and causes his body and mind to focus on only one thing. He had missed her teasing, her flirting, but just now he's not sure he can take it. He swallows hard, wills his hand to not shake as he takes the last few books from the crate. He can't decide what to say. "They're for you," he settles._
> 
> _"Your skills?"_
> 
> _He flushes. "The frescoes. They are to commemorate your accomplishments; this is your keep. These are your deeds."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter full of fluff so sweet it brings my hard-earned title of "Angst Abomination" to question. I sincerely hope you all continue to enjoy it. Feel free to comment, squee, or raise shenanigans here, or you can find me on tumblr at [enigmalea](http://enigmalea.tumblr.com). Drop me drabble prompts, questions, or love (or hate, even) in my ask. [Click here](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/post/185117840754) for instructions on how to submit one, and [here](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/tagged/my-drabbles) to read completed prompts.
> 
> You can also find me on Discord at [The Hanged Man](https://discordapp.com/invite/8FsBN4p), which focuses on DA fanfic and is for readers, writers, and betas alike! (Please note the server is NSFW and 18+ only.)

Solas is surprised the environmental spells he had worked into Skyhold are still functional, fading in ways which allowed for drafts and mild discomfort, but otherwise functional. The Keep is locked into perpetual autumn (his favorite season), and although the structures have changed with each group which has taken it over, his magic is still seeped deep into the foundation. Solas is struck with such an intense feeling of _homecoming_ it takes nearly everything he has not to fall to his knees and begin weeping as he steps into the courtyard. As it is, he forces himself up the first set of stairs from the portcullis as the others file in, and he presses his hand flat to the stone, closing his eyes as he takes in the sympathetic hum of the magical energies around him.

"This is marvelous," Josephine's voice carries from below. "How did you say Solas knew of it again?"

"He observed it in the Fade," Taashathi replies.

"It's extraordinary," Josephine says.

"It needs lots of work," Cullen interrupts, critical but not disapproving, "but it is easily defensible. We'll need masons and thatchers and-"

"Wait! I'll make a list. Just let me find my clipboard."

Solas smiles at the sounds of the Inquisition's advisers beginning their preparations even as the common folk have begun carving out space for the business of living. He senses her as she travels up the stairs and does not flinch as she reaches out to run her hand down his back. "You're smiling," she says her tone a mix of awe and surprise.

He turns to face her and takes a step closer. He barely stops himself from pulling her into his arms, from reaching up to her neck and pulling her into a kiss, but there is no one around and no one looking for them and so he doesn't stop himself from reaching out to take both her hands in his. "We have much to be thankful for, don't you think?" he asks.

"Like?"

"We are still alive. The Breach is closed. After nearly a month-long arduous journey we have reached a hold where the Inquisition can be safe and continue to grow," he answers. "The fact Skyhold still stands-"

"Have you seen this place?" she teases, a smirk on her face. "I'm not sure it's really _standing_."

His smile changes slightly to match her smirk, twisting into something mischievous. "Let's go," he suggests and turns to pull her up the stairs to the castle proper. It isn't until he sees the back of Cullen's fur mantle and he realizes the Commander could see him that he drops her hand.

"Where are we going?" she asks.

"To claim our rooms, of course," Solas replies as if it's obvious as he takes the stairs. "Everyone else is busy, now is the chance to get the premium spots."

"Solas! Herald!"

He freezes on the landing at the sound of the Commander's voice, schooling his expression into something serious, clasping his hands behind his back, and straightening his spine to make himself appear more disciplined than he is feeling right at that moment. "Yes, Commander?"

"Be careful in there, and don't go wandering too far. We can't afford to lose the Herald of Andraste or the Inquisition's best healer."

"Of course, Commander," Solas answers seriously. He takes the remainder of the stairs slowly with Taashathi by his side. The door to the castle is half-fallen off its hinges and thankfully propped open. It's not quite wide enough for them to slip through, but Taashathi gives it a hefty shove and it opens a bit more for her easily.

He steps into the entryway and immediately produces a couple of wisps, asking them to help light their way. He can feel the familiar shape of this place with his magic, the slight changes in how his millennia-old spells are interacting with the building are giving him nearly a complete picture of the castle and how it has changed. He bypasses the first fireplace and steps into the rotunda, summoning more wisps and veilfire to light the tower. Behind him, Taashathi gasps in wonder at the height of the structure.

The walls of this place are desperate for decoration and he is immediately inspired to shape Skyhold to the glory of the woman behind him. Her heroic deeds deserve to be remembered here, where his own, less heroic deeds shaped the world. He knows, instantly, this is it… his study. He searches in vain for something to mark this room as his before he kneels to write in the inches of dust on the floor "SOLAS".

Taashathi seems confused as she looks down at him. "What?" he asks. "Do you not think this is suitable for me?"

"It's… it's so open," she protests. Her face has flushed slightly, and he wonders if she was hoping to join him in his rooms. The thought is fleeting and brief but recalls his desperate fantasies from all those months ago.

"For a study," he clarifies, "hopefully we will not be so short on space this will also have to be my sleeping quarters." The wisp trills happily above them and Solas reaches for Taashathi’s hand as he catches sight of the spiraling staircase. "Let's see what's above."

"Do you think it's safe?" she asks.

"There is only one way to find out, Herald," he replies.

The stairs are in good condition, and so are the floors above it. The walls are still lined with mostly empty bookshelves and the place is filled with abandoned furniture. The wood remains in good condition, though the chairs will need to be reupholstered. He dips into the first alcove, pulling Taashathi with him, and picks up a book still sitting on the shelf wincing at the dust and grime. He wipes his hand on his robes, heedless of the dirt transferring and opens the book, frowning.

"What is it?" Taashathi asks shifting slightly so that she can peer down at the volume in interest.

The tome was handwritten and much of it has faded beyond readability. He flips open a page and holds it up to the dirty window behind him. "Whatever it held may be lost," he answers. "Perhaps Dorian or I could restore it," he adds absently.

He tosses the book back onto the shelf, coughing a bit as the plume of dust flies into the air. "Do you think it's worth that?" she asks. He looks back to her and inhales sharply at the fact she's moved closer to him. Even with her instinctively leaning down toward him, he has to tilt his head back to see her. She is so close he can feel her body heat.

He stands straighter and feels the stone of the wall against his back. There is very little light coming from the dirty window, but it is enough he can see the vibrant color of her eyes; her opalescent skin reflects the green light of the wisp which floats around to check on them before it darts off across the library. He licks his lips as his eyes move to hers and tries to focus on her question. "It is… entirely possible that book could contain the key to defeating Corypheus."

"Shame we didn't find it centuries sooner," she teases.

His heart is hammering in his chest even as he wills it to slow. His hands move to her hips and he swallows hard. "Yes," he strangles out, "I believe it would have saved us a great deal of trouble." The urge to kiss her is nearly overwhelming; he aches to reach up and pull her down to him, to taste her sweet lips and know if they are as soft as he imagines them. She leans closer, and he stands a bit straighter, barely resisting standing on his tiptoes to meet her lips. He can hardly breathe, time stretches out, each second drawing them imperceptibly closer. He feels her warm breath on his lips and-

Somewhere a door flies open with a loud _bang_ , bathing the lower level in bright sunlight; Taashathi lets out a yelp and jumps back away from him as they both cast a barrier out of instinct.

"Hellooooo," Dorian's voice rises up to them, and Solas and Taashathi both let out a heavy exhale of relief as they drop their barriers. "Taasha? Solas? Have you been eaten by poisonous spiders? Captured by wraiths? Am I going to have to perform a daring and dashing rescue?"

"You almost needed to rescue yourself!" Taashathi calls sarcastically, and Solas snorts. "Who bursts in on people like that when they're exploring ruins on high alert?"

"You sound close," Dorian yells. "I can almost hear Solas' smirk from here."

"Up the stairs in front of you, Dorian. We have found a library," Solas says, letting his voice carry naturally with the emptiness and structure of the tower.

"Are there books?" Dorian can hardly hide his excitement as he takes the stairs two at a time.

"A few," Solas answers as Dorian joins them eagerly, "though how useful they will be is undetermined."

Without preamble, the other mage begins to gather the books present on the shelves and stack them onto a table. "Let's find out, shall we?"

Solas gives Taashathi an apologetic grin and lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug as he joins Dorian in his quest to gather the books present. Taashathi helps but once the stack is complete and Dorian flips open a book, she clears her throat. "I think the two of you can handle this," she says with a nod, "I'm going to see where else I may be useful."

He looks up from the book he was flipping through, his eyes wide at her quickly retreating form. "Taashathi, wait!" he calls. The Vashoth mage freezes at the top of the stairs, her shoulders tense, but when she turns to face him, she is the picture of calm serenity. He wastes no time in joining her as Dorian mumbles to himself quietly. "Please, stay. We could use your help. This will go faster with three rather than two, and the faster it goes, the faster we can claim our sleeping quarters."

Taashathi's eyes dart to where Dorian is, before firmly landing back on Solas; she absently scratches at the base of her horn, something Solas has begun to realize is a small tell for when she's nervous or unsettled. His brow furrows in worry at her action. He wants to ask why she's upset, wants to offer to somehow make it better, wants to apologize for the two of them being interrupted. "Come get me when you're done," she offers as a compromise. "I really should check-in and see if I'm needed somewhere else. I'm probably better suited to heavy lifting than something like this."

And before Solas can reply, she has disappeared down the stairs and is fleeing out the open door, leaving Solas to stare after her in confusion.

 

* * *

 

It has taken them weeks to settle into Skyhold, and in those weeks he has seen very little of the Herald of Andraste. He watches with a strange mix of pride and trepidation as Taashathi is named Inquisitor. She has come so far, even if she doesn't see it, but he worries the pressure of leadership might change her as it does so many. He keeps his fears to himself, not wanting her to take them to mean he doesn't believe she will be successful.

But as she balances her newfound responsibilities with preparations to track down Hawke's Warden contact to determine what is happening with that ancient order, it has not left her much free time. To be fair, none of them have much free time. The library has expanded quickly with everyone exploring multiple lines of research, and he and Dorian have been tasked with aiding the new mage recruits who will be accountable for upkeep. In addition, there is sparring and training and making sure their allies' battle magic skills are up to par. The Inquisition's army is growing quickly with volunteers and sell-swords and nobles sending parts of their own forces to support them; it seems word of Corypheus and his Red Templars has spread quickly throughout Thedas, and no one is happy about it.

And then there is his other project. He has spent hours – sleepless nights and stolen moments between other duties – planning and outlining his work. The first fresco is complete; the second is currently drying; the third will hopefully be completed before they leave for Crestwood. He is unsure if Taashathi has seen them, he has seen so little of her.

At least, he is unsure until he hears her enter his office and gasp in awe. It is both an advantage and disadvantage that where his office is situated every sound carries, and he smiles to himself as he hears her mumble, "magnificent." He is on the second floor, unpacking a crate of books. It is late, and everyone else has left for the day. He should be sleeping, would love to be sleeping, but the fresco demanded his attention, and he'd promised Dorian he'd unpack these before the end of his day. He'd simply lost track of time.

She must hear him upstairs, because she calls tentatively, "Solas?"

"Up here, Inquisitor," he answers. She huffs at his use of her title but appears around the corner carrying a tray of fruit and cheese. He glances at the tray as he slides a book onto the shelf and then stands from his crouched position. "It occurs to me I have not had the chance to congratulate you on your promotion directly," he says.

She places the tray on a nearby table, frowning a bit at him. "I wish you wouldn't. I don't want this."

"Which, in my mind, makes you perfect for the job," Solas retorts. "Anyone who wanted the power would not be trustworthy to have it."

"I'm far from perfect, Solas, but thank you."

He wants to challenge her assertion, to tell her of all the ways he's noticed her perfection, but the words won't come, and even if they would it's precisely what he shouldn't be doing. He licks his lips as his brain re-engages, as his logical side kicks in and tells him that it is good they were interrupted by Dorian weeks ago, that his weakness for her is distracting him from his goals. He clears his throat and nods toward the plate, "are you traveling with snacks, now?"

"That's for you," Taashathi replies nonchalantly. His eyes move to her face following the trail of a scar which runs through her plump lips, they stumble there for a moment, before he forces them up to her lively eyes. He must properly convey his confusion through his expression, because she crosses her arms over her chest, and shifts her weight off of one foot to be even on both feet before she explains, "I overheard the kitchen staff saying you rarely eat; you mostly ask for tea, which you are _very_ particular about. You need to eat, Solas."

He didn't need to, strictly. It was difficult, but there was still enough of the Fade present he could sustain himself on it if necessary. Sometimes he did so out of habit. When he does eat, it is for appearances or simply because he enjoys the taste of food. "Thank you," he answers softly.

She looks at him expectantly and intensely, and he finds he must look away before he says or does something he will regret. His eyes land on the crate and he grabs a book and shelves it just for the distraction. "Solas," she admonishes. "Stop. Eat. It's late, and you need to rest."

"If it is so late, Taashathi, then why aren't you in bed?" he retorts, but he doesn't stop what he's doing. He reaches for another book and slides it onto the shelf heedless of the subject matter or its proper placement. Everyone will be cursing him in the morning, possibly even himself, but at this moment he can't seem to care; the only thing which matters is staying busy.

"I can't sleep. The burden of leadership," she replies. He hears her heavy footsteps and stands before she can reach him, grabbing another book and moving to a shelf further away. It doesn't stop her; she reaches into the crate and crosses to him handing him two books. "The paintings in your study-"

"They're frescoes," he corrects.

"The frescoes in your study are beautiful. I didn't realize you are an artist," she takes the correction without complaint or argument, before moving back to the nearby tray. He's learned she would rather be corrected than be wrong, that she retains nearly everything she's told, and although she won't pursue it now, she will slowly pry him for as much information as he is willing to provide about what a fresco is. He has had to be very careful about what he tells her.

"I have acquired a great many skills, Inquisitor," he replies smoothly.

"I hope, one day, I'll have the opportunity to sample them _all_ ," she answers archly.

He nearly drops the books at the suggestive lilt of her voice, the tone which goes straight through him, and causes his body and mind to focus on only one thing. He had missed her teasing, her flirting, but just now he's not sure he can take it. He swallows hard, wills his hand to not shake as he takes the last few books from the crate. He can't decide what to say. "They're for you," he settles.

"Your skills?"

He flushes. "The frescoes. They are to commemorate your accomplishments; this is your keep. These are your deeds."

She has gone very still, and when manages to look at her, she, too, is flushing. "You… uh… you don't have to-"

"No, I don't," he agrees, "but you should be remembered as you were, not as the Chantry decides for you to be remembered." The silence he's met with worries him, and he wonders if he's overstepped his bounds. He should have asked if this is what she would want; he should have let her choose, but it is too late for that and he can't take it back. He turns to apologize, to offer to cover them if they embarrass her, and is surprised to find she's moved closer.

She is standing there with an apple slice in her hand staring at him expectantly, but also fearfully, as if she has had second thoughts about what she was going to say or do. "Taashathi?" he asks raising an eyebrow.

"I… thank you." Her voice is soft, and maybe a bit sad, and he isn't sure how to fix things.

"I don't have to do them," he says quickly. "I can cover them if you want. I can choose something less-"

"Don't you dare," she says breathlessly, and Solas is suddenly filled with warmth spreading from the center of his chest. She _likes_ them. He didn't upset her. He nods slowly, unable to find words to express himself for once. He is torn between saying ridiculous things about how he has grown to care about her and how he wants everyone to see how amazing she is and saying nothing. The latter choice wins.

"You should eat," she says suddenly, holding up the apple slice for him. He accepts it reluctantly, but takes a bite, watching the expression on her face. If he looks closely enough, he can see the dark circles under her eyes, the tension in her jawline, the furrows of her forehead beginning to deepen. Even now, the stress and long hours are getting to her.

"If I promise to eat most of what you brought, will you please go to your quarters and get some rest?" he asks.

She sighs heavily and shifts on her feet, looking away from him. "I can't sleep," she repeats. "I'm not just saying that. I've tried."

"Hmmm… perhaps take a book with you," he suggests. "There are some leisure reads - I believe there are several copies of Varric's Hard in Hightown… but a dry history novel may work better for sleep."

Taashathi flushes and her eyes move back to him before flitting to the bookshelf. The expression on her face turns almost wistful before she says softly, "Solas… I-I _can't_."

He scoffs. "Of course, you can. This is the Inquisition's library and you are the Inquisitor. These belong to you as much as-"

"No," she strangles out the interruption and closes her eyes tight, face screwing up into an expression of mixed shame and pain. Her blush is darkening. "I… I can't… I can't read."

Solas is shocked, but slowly the pieces fall together - her confusion when he'd written his name in the dust to claim his study, her refusal to help him and Dorian with the library, the way she retained spoken information, the fact he'd never seen her reading or writing any correspondence, the way she would confidently navigate until they reached a crossroad and she'd wait until someone else took the lead. Taashathi was illiterate. "You… can't… read," he repeats.

"Not Trade… and barely Qunlat," she admits. "P-please don't tell anyone. I… I've been paying a servant to read my mail and take my dictation and… and I…"

He wants to pull her into his arms, to hold her and assure her it's okay, as she is clearly becoming more distressed as she stumbles through an explanation; he stops himself from doing so, but he does reach for her, placing a steadying hand on her forearm as he says softly, "I assure you, there are likely far more members of the Inquisition who cannot read than those who can. Do you want to learn?"

Her violet eyes are wide, tears gathered in them and threatening to fall. "Yes, but-"

"I'll teach you."

"We have more important-"

"Taashathi, I will teach you if you wish to learn. It isn't a burden or a bother. I would be delighted. There is no shame in not already knowing how. I doubt your life has left much time for such things," Solas insists. She bites her lower lip and nods as she fights back the tears.

He sighs softly as he releases her arm, moving to another shelf he scans the titles quickly, selecting a book and tucking it under his arm. "Let's go, Herald," he says, not waiting for a reply as he passes her by and grabs the tray.

"Where are we-"

"To your quarters," he replies without hesitation. "You can't sleep but need rest, and I need to eat, as you have insisted on reminding me."

She catches up to him quickly as he glides across the great hall, avoiding piles of building material and hazards. "But-"

"Shush." Thankfully Taashathi doesn't protest again, she simply follows his all too confident stride through the castle and up to her room. "You should get ready for bed," he says as he sets the tray on her night table.

"I… I sleep naked," she supplies. He nearly knocks the tray over.

"Well, perhaps… not tonight," he suggests, his face and ear tips flushing. What had he been thinking? This was a terrible idea. He hears the mattress creek, and he glances over to see Taashathi in a long linen tunic and nothing else; it barely hides the long, incandescent stretch of her thighs, the smooth, soft skin which is begging for his attention.

She is lovely. More than just sexually attractive, the way she is looking at him expectantly has stolen his breath, has made him forget that he is supposed to be reading to her, helping her fall asleep. She has stretched out onto the bed but made sure to leave him room, and as he slides in next to her, she slots herself against him. She must know how this could be interpreted, so she makes sure to keep some distance between them, resting her head on his chest, but leaving inches of distance between the rest of their bodies. He burns to pull her close, to hold her tight and press kisses to her forehead.

With a sigh of contentment, he wraps an arm around her, his hand landing on her waist. He clears his throat and opens the book, "Hard in Hightown by Varric Tethras. Chapter 1. They say coin never sleeps, but anyone who's walked the patrol of Hightown Market at midnight might disagree…"

 

* * *

 

She has fallen asleep before he has even finished the first chapter of Varric's book. He stops as soon as he notices she is breathing deeply and evenly, though he has no idea how much she's actually heard or if she will retain any of it. He nibbles at the snack tray lightly as he indulges in holding her, a man of his word. He has no idea how much time passes with them like that- her lightly sleeping as he blearily, but resolutely eats slices of cheese and apples so she will not worry about him.

He tries not to think about how long it has been since he's simply held someone; even before uthenera, it had been centuries since he'd trusted someone with that sort of intimacy. But this feels natural… right. He trusts Taashathi with his life regularly, and he has no doubt she would do anything in her power to protect him; just as he would her. He holds her close, barely resisting the urge to close his eyes and join her in sleep.

It takes more effort than he wants to admit to extract himself from her; he has to will himself to shift, sliding his arm under her head, and gently lowering it to the pillow. She reaches for him in her sleep with a tiny whimper which nearly crushes his resolve, but he forces himself to pull the blanket over her sleeping form and leave before the desire to stay becomes too great.

Even now, as he collapses into his own bed face first, and idly notices the sounds of birds awakening in the courtyard below (how late is it exactly?), Solas is trying desperately not to return to her. He slips into the Fade with nearly no effort, willing his body to sleep with practiced ease which cannot be easily duplicated.

He is in his study, which is not unusual. He has been so focused on his work, his subconscious has been bringing him here initially nearly every night. He has just resolved to focus on his plan to complete the third mural as a surprise for Taashathi before they leave for Crestwood when he senses her behind him. It isn't odd for him to see others in the Fade; they usually pass him by without notice, playing out their dreams, unaware of his presence.

"I'm interested in what you've told me of yourself and your studies. If you have time, I'd like to hear more," she says. The words make sense, but the fact she's speaking with him doesn't. He shifts on his feet, watching her carefully. She is looking at him expectantly, not through him or around him. Whether she knows she is speaking with the actual man and not a figment of her imagination he isn't sure.

"You continue to surprise me. Alright, let us talk… preferably somewhere more interesting than this," he answers. At the suggestion, the scene around them changes to her whim, and Solas is surprised to find them in Haven. He would have expected this to be too great of a loss for her to wish to see it again, at least, for now. It should have been too soon.

The snow is falling lightly as they ascend the stairs, the ghostly sounds of the day-to-day life of Haven’s residents meeting his ears, even though the town is empty.

"Why here?" Taashathi asks.

He doesn't know, really, but he cannot leave her question unanswered. "Haven is familiar. It will always be important to you."

She scoffs. "That's an understatement." It's a non-sequitur. She seems to remember something terrible happened here and perhaps, even, that Haven is lost for a fleeting moment, but decides she is okay with it existing. Her face scrunches up in confusion briefly, but she leads him confidently through the Chantry and down into the cells.

"I sat beside you while you slept, studying the Anchor." The memory tugs at him as he remembers his initial rage that someone else was able to claim his Anchor, and then the fear about what she might do with it. The fear was baseless. His guilt over the fact his magic is slowly killing her resurfaces, but he forces it down deep. This is her dream, and he welcomes the chance to witness it, but it would be far too easy for his will to override her subconscious.

"I'm glad you were watching over me," she shifts a bit closer to him, and he expects her to take his hand. Even in her dreams, Taashathi is cautious of overstepping.

"You were a mystery; you still are." He doesn't mean to say that. Being in the Fade has weakened some of his resolve; were they face-to-face in the physical world, he would have never referred to her as a mystery. He is lucky, however, he didn't say something worse – more sentimental. The silence stretches between them for a few moments.

"How long could studying a mark on my hand take?" she asks.

"A magical mark of unknown origin, tied to a unique Breach in the Veil?" he scoffs. It is a valid question. Much of the first day had been spent with him trying to reclaim the mark. He hates to think of it now, but… how much worse had he made the damage the Anchor was causing? His stomach lurches at the thought she may die sooner because of his efforts. "Longer than you might think. I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade, yet found nothing. Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn't produce results."

"I never would have agreed to that," she turns to him and takes a step closer as if she means to shield him from even the memory of the conversation, and his heart swells at the gesture.

"You were in no position to argue," he reminds her. She doesn't like that answer. She frowns deeply. The scene changes as she pushes the thought away and Solas finds himself back outside the Chantry and headed toward his old cabin.

"For all our sake's, I'm pleased that you stuck around," she says, her sweet and melodic tone pulling at him.

"As am I," he says, his own tone reflecting hers. No matter what happens, Solas can say that much is true. He is glad he stayed and has had the chance to know the woman in front of him. "You have fractured rules of man and nature and you will shatter more before you are done. Visiting me here, even as a mage, it should not have been so easy for you."

"What do you mean?" Her face screws up in confusion at his misstep. He does not want to answer the question, to do so will call attention to the fact they are in the Fade; if she becomes aware she may panic, she could think him a demon. He licks his lips and resolves to simply avoid the question.

"I was afraid you were never going to wake up. How could you? A mortal sent physically through the Fade," he deflects, drawing her attention back to how they first met. "I was frustrated, frightened. The Spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra… or she in me. I was ready to flee."

Next to him, Taashathi stops and lets out a short laugh as he turns to face her. "The Breach threatened the whole world. Where did you plan to go?"

"Someplace far away, where I might research how to repair the Breach before its effects reached me. I never said it was a good plan," he admits with a smirk and a slight shrug. She meets his smirk, and he forces himself to turn away from her. "I told myself: one more attempt to seal the rifts," he explains. His pride had led him to believe he could repair his creation even without the Anchor or his focus. "I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigning myself to flee and then…"

With a feat of collective memory, they are both pulled back to the moment at which he took her hand and held it to the first rift she'd sealed. The memory is so intense, Solas can smell the demon ichor in the air; his retinas hurt from the light shining from the rift. Their power blends together forming into something greater than both of them, a pulsing, tingling, living thing which thrills him, sending chills through his body.

In an instant, it's over, and Solas says the only thing he can think of, "it seems you hold the key to our salvation." She smiles at the memory, and he wonders if it meant half as much to her as it had to him. "You had sealed it with a gesture, and right then… I felt the whole world change."

"'Felt the whole world change'?" she questions.

Panic floods him. He hadn't meant to say that, to admit how much the simple gesture had changed things for him. "A figure of speech," he says casually.

"I'm aware of the metaphor," Taashathi states, taking a step closer. He tilts his head back to look up at her as she takes another step. "I'm more interested in 'felt'."

She is so close he can feel her heat, even here, can smell the sweet clean scent which always hangs about her. The memory of holding her just a few short hours ago permeates his awareness. "You change… everything," he strangles out reluctantly. He shouldn't have said it; it is foolhardy and careless and will only lead to pain.

"Sweet talker," she whispers as she takes a step closer and leans down. The warm press of her soft lips on his is too brief; she is gone and has turned away from him nearly before his brain registers she was there.

It seems to happen in slow motion, and yet, he still can't stop himself. He reaches for her arm and pulls her to him, his left hand moving behind her neck to pull her back into a kiss. She seems to melt against him, her long body becoming pliant against his. She is so caught off-guard she can't figure out what to do with her hands; they hang limply beside him.

His heart pounds in his chest; the blood roars in his ears. Her lips part for his tongue even though its initial venture is tentative. He claims her as his as the kiss deepens; her hands move to his face, large and warm and comforting, even as his hand moves to her ass. His thigh slips between her legs as he pulls her closer to him.

She moans softly as her sex contacts his thigh, the friction pulling the sound from her. Her hands move to his chest, dangerously close to his pounding heart as she clutches at his tunic. She is trembling in his arms. He nips at her bottom lip as her hips rock ever so slightly against him. He is beginning to swell with desire.

The Spirit- _Nonono. This is real. This is Taashathi. This is her. STOP._

He has to physically wrench himself away from her, to stop before he completely loses control and pushes this further, throwing himself away from her with a force even he didn't expect. "We shouldn't. It isn't right. Not even here," he pants desperately. She takes a step closer, but he throws his hand up to stop her.

She is confused, her amethyst eyes clouded with desire. He knows he must end this, now, must admit where they are and what is going on before the temptation becomes too much for him. "What do you mean 'even here'?"

"Where did you think we were?" he forces the question out. The shame at his lack of control burns; his face is flushed with it.

Taashathi turns away from him, eyes widening as she takes in Haven around her. He can see the moment recognition hits her, the moment her memory tells her that this cannot be, that she is dreaming. "This isn't real," she concludes.

His heart lurches. The last thing he wants is for her to think this wasn't real, wasn't important because of where it happened. He wants to argue with her, to tell her that it's possibly more real here for him than it could ever be in her world. He wants to explain – in detail – what all of this has meant to him. He ignores the urge and steels his resolve. "That's a matter of debate… probably best discussed after you… _wake up_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **To Crymsm:** I unintentionally lied when I replied to your comment. Solas did, indeed, take your life advice and snuggle that woman. Taashathi thanks you for your service.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Solas talks a _lot_ for a man who sucks at communication, and therefore, Taashathi understands one thing when he means another. Cole tries, and fails, to help. Everyone gangs up on Solas. Basically, massive Inquisition shenanigans ensue.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _He glances over at the man who has appeared by his side and is watching him expectantly for an answer. Bull clears his throat. "I asked if you were okay, Solas. You're awfully quiet."_
> 
> _He nods once, in response. "I'm fine. Just thinking. You should, perhaps, try it sometime."_
> 
> _"Oh, ho!" Bull laughs. "Grumpy today, I see."_
> 
> _"He's probably contemplating the state of those rags he insists on wearing," Vivienne taunts. Solas rolls his eyes._
> 
> _"I've offered to order him some properly tailored clothing," Dorian begins, "something to highlight his more attractive qualities-"_
> 
> _"Oh, does he have those?" Vivienne asks, arching an eyebrow over her shoulder at him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [enigmalea](http://enigmalea.tumblr.com). Drop me drabble prompts, anon love, or anon hate in my ask. [Click here](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/post/185117840754) for instructions on how to submit one, and [here](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/tagged/my-drabbles) to read completed prompts.
> 
> You can also find me on Discord at [The Hanged Man](https://discordapp.com/invite/8FsBN4p), which focuses on DA fanfic and is for readers, writers, and betas alike! (Please note the server is NSFW and 18+ only. Also, please note, I may or may not have introduced a server exclusive fic there today. 🤐)

She is quiet when she enters his office the next morning. If he wasn't used to the feeling of her energy rippling subtly through the Fade or the bright, alluring pulse of the Anchor, he probably wouldn't have known she was behind him. "I… I brought tea," she says softly.

When he turns to face her, she is worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, teacup thrust toward him with a trembling hand; her unbound hair is cascading over her shoulders, and the tunic she slept in has slipped off one shoulder. She thankfully has donned breeches before making her way to the kitchens and his study, otherwise, Solas isn't sure he would be able to control his impulses, even firmly in the real world.

He accepts the offered cup and takes a sip, barely suppressing the look of disgust it triggers. She must have told the kitchen staff who it is for because it's prepared very nearly to his instructions, which means it is barely palatable, cloyingly sweet, and only one step away from the mixture which was given to him the two times he'd intentionally entered uthenera. The scent of her drink reaches him, and he inhales the sharp bitterness tinged with spice eagerly.

"What is-"

"Solas, I-"

They both begin speaking at once and stop. His heart rate has picked up, fear he has upset her with his forwardness in the Fade causing his body to react. He clears his throat and tries again. "Sleep well?" he asks.

"I had some strange dreams – _very_ strange. I liked the end, though," she says softly. She sips the contents of her mug, as her words sink in. His heart is now pounding for another reason. She liked the kiss. He shouldn't pursue this, shouldn't indulge. To do so is selfish, almost cruel, knowing what will come. But she is so much than he expected: strong, beautiful, calm, composed, smart; he cannot help but be pulled into her orbit no matter how hard he tries to resist.

"What if I told you they weren't dreams… or not entirely, anyway?" he ventures.

Her eyes move to him and she blushes, the silver-white of her skin becoming tinted faintly purple due to its cool undertones. "I have never done anything like that before… on a number of levels," she begins. She clears her throat. "When I asked to talk with you, I didn't think we'd be doing it in the Fade… or, for that matter, _doing it_ in the Fade."

He chuckles at the joke before composing himself. "When you asked to speak with me, you were already in the Fade," he informs her. "I simply let your dream play out… for the most part."

"That… that wasn't… I haven't… we _kissed_ ," she objects.

Solas sighs softly and nods in agreement, humiliation at his lack of control causing him to blush with her now. He needs for her to understand he hadn't meant to force himself on her; the Fade simply enhanced his emotions and wore at his resolve and control. He desperately wants her to know she can trust him. "I apologize. The kiss was impulsive and ill-considered, and I should not have encouraged it."

Her back straightens, and she turns to look at him, purple eyes glinting in the torchlight. "You say that, but you're the one who started with tongue," she teases.

"I did no such thing!" he protests, even though he knows he did. Her bringing attention to his lack of control burns at him, and he can't help but argue against it.

She raises an eyebrow at him. "Oh, does it not count if it's only Fade tongue?"

_It, perhaps, counts more_. "I never said that, Taashathi," he argues. In the silence, she relaxes a bit, and he sips his tea, before continuing. "I am… not certain this is the best idea. It could lead to trouble."

She tenses next to him and averts her gaze. "Solas… I thought you were interested… in spite of your past protests. If I misread you, I apologize."

"You have no need to apologize," he begins hastily. "I-"

"You _did_ kiss me back," she reminds him, and he nods in agreement. "If I'm pressuring you-"

"I am perhaps pressuring myself," he interrupts. The words tumble from his lips nearly without consideration, but he needs her to stop thinking she's pressured him into anything; particularly when he was the one who behaved inappropriately. "It… it has been a very long time for me, and… and things have always been… different for me in the Fade… easier… my emotions are closer to the surface and I… sometimes don't… behave as I should."

"As you should?" The question is so soft, Solas isn't sure he heard it. "I see," she adds. "So that's… that, then?"

"I… yes. I'm sorry for my… lack of decorum," he answers.

"It's fine." The reply is short and perhaps a bit terser than he was expecting, but she has a right to be angry. He behaved abominably.

"Thank you for your understanding, Taashathi," he says giving her a small smile.

"You're welcome."

 

* * *

 

They have been so busy, Solas has barely seen her. In addition to his other projects, he has pieced together a rudimentary reading primer for her and finished his fresco. Although his every waking moment has been filled with duties and projects and his time in the Fade has been filled with directing his agents, by the time they are prepared to leave for Crestwood, he is nearly consumed by a desire to see her. So much so, the night before they are supposed to leave, he plants himself next to Varric in the great hall and laughs and jokes with him until even the dwarf gives up and calls it a night.

Solas is unsure how long he's there, half-in, half-out of the Fade, clutching a now cold cup of tea in his hands before Taashathi stumbles into the hall. He stands abruptly, nearly knocking over his tea in the process. She turns to him slowly, a little unsteady on her feet. "Solas!" she exclaims enthusiastically, but then her face falls as his name echoes, and she clears her throat, sobering her expression. "Solas," she repeats somberly.

"Taashathi," he replies, unable to stop his smile just at the sight of her. He knows he must get the impulse under control lest people begin to talk. She waivers unsteadily on her feet, and Solas' eyes narrow as his face falls. "Are you drunk?"

"Nope," she answers, but the word has too much emphasis on the 'o' and the 'p' and as she exhales the scent of the alcohol is strong enough it smacks Solas in the face.

"Yes, you are," he sighs.

"I maaaaay have had a drink… or seven… or more?" Taashathi grins at him. "Hawke bought them for me. Have you met him? He's Varric's friend. He's pretty. He said I was pretty, too."

He can't stop his jaw from tightening, his heart from plunging into his stomach, his fist from clenching. The sudden wave of jealousy hits him hard, and he has to breathe deeply through his nose. He smiles up at her and gently places his hand on her elbow to begin steering her toward her quarters. "Ser Hawke isn't wrong, Taashathi, you are beautiful- drunk but very beautiful."

"You know what, Solas? I bet he'd kiss me if I asked him. I bet he wouldn't tell me it was impulsive… and… and… ill-considered." Solas stiffens next to her as he opens the door to the stairs which lead up to her rooms. He can't help but hope everyone is asleep, particularly Madame de Fer with her tendency to gossip.

"Would you want him to kiss you?" he hisses.

Taashathi pauses, and Solas knows his efforts to get her to her bed will be futile. If the Vashoth mage does not want to be moved, he will not accomplish it. She turns to look at him, bleary purple eyes wide but unfocused and whispers, "at least he wouldn't worry about how he _should_ behave. Hawke doesn't care what people think, Solas. He's pretty. I'm pretty. We would be pretty together; fuck the world!"

Her journey up the stairs is slow and labored, and Solas can only be glad she is moving again. He's not sure how much longer she will stay on her feet. She stops at the next door, and Solas can't help but curse the architect who added this many stairs to the bedchamber. "Will you kiss me, Solas?" she asks softly, leaning toward him.

He is enveloped by the smell of the alcohol, and he turns his head, placing a hand on her shoulder to stop her. "You're drunk, Taashathi. I would prefer if you have a glimmer of hope at remembering our first waking kiss."

Her expression turns sad, and she reaches up to cup his cheek with one large hand. He can't help but lean into her touch, desperate for even this tiny bit of affection she can give him. He feels guilty, taking it so freely when she likely doesn't realize what she's doing. "Goodnight, Solas," she whispers and with some effort, she manages to throw open the door to her bedroom and make it up the final set of stairs.  
  


* * *

 

"You should talk with her," Cole's voice startles him as he checks his saddle to make sure everything is prepared for their journey. They are very nearly ready to go; their small party has grown from a party of four to a party of ten. They are a specialized group, entrusted with nearly all of the same authority as the Inquisitor herself, and together the ten of them conquer areas of Orlais and Ferelden as if they were meant to do it- sweeping up rebel mages and recruiting them, solving mysteries, closing rifts, dispersing demons, and setting up Inquisition outposts.

"Taashathi?" he asks. "I plan to, it's just that we are busy now."

"She hurts. She doesn't understand."

Solas' brow furrows as he tries to figure out what Cole means. The idea Taashathi is in distress of some type and hasn't told him worries him. "Thank you, I'll-"

"The words slip from your lips succulent and sweet, songs of praise and admiration, but she sips them like poison, dark and bitter," the Spirit tries to explain. It doesn't make sense, what he's saying; Solas follows his sad eyes to where Taashathi speaks quietly with Cullen as they wait on the rest of the party to join them.

"I'll speak with her today," he assures the boy.

"But you don't understand-"

"Thank you, Cole." He doesn't want to cause him distress, but he needs time to figure out what he's said, he needs to think over the words and their context. Language for Spirits is rarely direct and literal.

Cole huffs in frustration and disappears from beside him, reappearing a moment later next to his own horse. It doesn't take long before they have left Skyhold, their horses picking their way carefully down the snow-laden Frostback Mountains and into the lowlands of Ferelden. It is slow going and done with much trepidation; it is easy for any of the horses to lose their footing and break a leg. The tension hangs over the group until their altitude is lower, the air is thicker, and the ground is more even.

As the others begin grouping together for conversation, Solas is eager to join Taashathi's side but finds himself left alone as she pairs up with Hawke. He slows his horse, allowing it to drift lazily along at the back and tries not to glare at the couple. He is lost deep in attempting not to dwell on how often Hawke makes her laugh or how she leans close to him when he realizes Bull has spoken to him, finally.

He glances over at the man who has appeared by his side and is watching him expectantly for an answer. Bull clears his throat. "I asked if you were okay, Solas. You're awfully quiet."

He nods once, in response. "I'm fine. Just thinking. You should, perhaps, try it sometime."

"Oh, ho!" Bull laughs. "Grumpy today, I see."

"He's probably contemplating the state of those _rags_ he insists on wearing," Vivienne taunts. Solas rolls his eyes.

"I've offered to order him some properly tailored clothing," Dorian begins, "something to highlight his more attractive qualities-"

"Oh, does he have those?" Vivienne asks, arching an eyebrow over her shoulder at him.

"He's got a tight ass," Bull declares. "Round and plump. I wouldn't object to getting a handful of it." Solas flushes, at a loss for words, and unsure whether to thank Bull for noticing or protest being objectified.

"Ew! Gross!" Sera exclaims.

"You know," Blackwall speaks up, "Sera and I were just talking about you. We need you to settle a question for us." He watches the glance the two share and the giggle which begins to escape Sera unbidden.

He sighs, "Sera's involved? So, this question will be offensive."

Blackwall considers the question and shrugs. "Yes, probably. Sorry in advance. You make friends with spirts in the Fade. So… um… are there any that are more than just friends?" The question hangs in the air and Solas resolves not to respond, but that seems to encourage Blackwall to press further. "If… you know what I mean…"

"Oh, for… really?!" Solas scoffs. Vivienne and Dorian have exchanged a knowing look, and next to him Bull chuckles. He can't help but blush, his eyes moving to where Taashathi and Hawke are still talking earnestly. He is grateful she is not privy to this conversation.

"Look, it's a natural thing to be curious about!"

"For a twelve-year-old!" Solas exclaims, his eyes narrowing at Sera's back. The young elf has begun cackling in earnest, barely holding onto her horse's saddle as she is wracked with laughter.

"It's a simple yes or no question," Bull interjects, and Solas can't help but shoot the Qunari a glare.

"Nothing about the Fade or spirits is _simple_ ," Solas objects, "especially not that." He regrets the words as soon as they leave him.

"Aha!" Blackwall exclaims. "So, you do _have_ experience in these matters!"

"I did not say that," Solas hisses, his eyes moving frantically to Taashathi's back.

"Don't panic. It'll be our little secret," Blackwall answers, pitching his voice conspiratorially. Unfortunately, everyone has already heard his answer, has seen the way his face has pinkened with embarrassment, has already drawn their own conclusions about his _experiences_.

"Ass," he grumbles.

"Now who's twelve?" Blackwall taunts.

Varric glances over his shoulder, his eyes landing on Solas' bright red face. "Andraste's knickers, what did you do to Chuckles? He looks like he's about to pass out from a lack of blood flow."

Sera's peals of laughter don't end until she falls out of her saddle.  
  


* * *

 

They stop for lunch after Sera's _accident_ and are quickly back on the road. Taashathi is left alone when they take to the road again, and Solas urges his horse faster to catch up with her before someone else can take the opportunity to speak with her. She glances at him but doesn't say anything. She does, however, sit a bit straighter in her saddle.

"How are you feeling?" he asks after a few moments. "After your night of drinking, I would imagine-"

"Fine. I had a potion." Her tone is short and Solas bristles against it. The faint realization that something is _wrong_ begins to settle in over him. Is she upset he didn't take advantage of her situation last night? Or is she still upset he _did_ take advantage of her in the Fade? He swallows hard, trying to figure out exactly what he has done wrong and when. Cole's words begin to play in his memory, but he can't make them out, can't figure out what the Spirit was trying to tell him.

"That's… good," he settles. Silence, thick and awkward. He's not sure how to fix it when he's not sure what he's done wrong. He clears his throat and pushes forward. "I brought along a reading primer I've devised. I thought perhaps… if you like… we could share a tent and work on-"

"I'll be too tired to concentrate with the travel," she interrupts.

Solas reels. He had been secretly hoping they would share a tent and get to spend some time together on the trip. His grip tightens on the reigns. "Well… I brought a copy of _Hard in Hightown_ … perhaps I could read to you-"

"I'm sharing with Sera, Solas. If I don't, we'll have an odd number of women. We've already decided this," she interrupts.

He licks his lips and glances over his shoulder at their gathered companions. "Yes, but… with Hawke, we've got an odd number of men, and so…"

"That's for you lot to figure out, don't you think?" she questions. "The Inquisitor shouldn't have to plan sleeping arrangements, too."

"No, that's not-"

"And besides, don't you think sharing a tent would be… _impulsive_ … and maybe a little… _ill-considered_?" Taashathi spits vehemently. Solas' heart drops. Those words. Again. Why did she keep bringing them up? "You know, we probably shouldn't do that, because it wouldn't be proper. We wouldn't be behaving as we _should_ , as a Vashoth mage and an elven apostate… or maybe as the Inquisitor and her Fade expert."

He finds himself at a loss for words, not sure how to respond. She's clearly angry with him, but he isn't sure how to make it better; he isn't sure how to fix it when he thought it was already fixed. "Oh yes… I… I see," he agrees slowly and reluctantly. How could he have been so wrong about where they stood? "I apologize for my… my… presumptuousness. I…"

He can't finish his statement, because he isn't sure what to say. Disappointment fills him. He gives her one last look before slowing his horse and leaving her side.

 

* * *

 

Caer Bronach has become a bustling Inquisition outpost, a center for trade, scouting, and defense. Solas is happy to see it after long days on the road, not only because it means their journey is nearly over, but also because it means Hawke will be leaving them for a few days to meet with his contact ahead of time. He is hoping with the Champion gone, he can perhaps steal a moment of Taashathi's time to attempt to apologize… again… for his behavior in the Fade. This distance between them, which has been lingering for days, has thrown him into a tailspin; he should be glad for her to be done with him, but instead… instead, he can't get rid of the hollow ache that has settled in his stomach; he has tried to convince himself it is for the best, but he has not forgotten the kiss.

The sun is getting closer to the horizon as Solas finally emerges from the bathhouse, grateful to be clean from the road dust. The fortress provides a smattering of rooms and all of them have been reserved for the Inquisitor and her party of companions, but they have all merged with the Caer's normal inhabitants, grateful to see someone new for the first time in days.

The head scout - Charter - passes him by with a smirk and a nod, an acknowledgment between "Agents of Fen'Harel"; he returns the greeting subtly. Or so he thinks.

"She's pretty." Taashathi's voice behind him makes him jump, and he stands abruptly from where he sat on an empty barrel, turning to face her.

"I hadn't notic-"

"You should ask her to join you for the evening, Solas," she interrupts, her tone scathing. "I'm sure she wouldn't object."

He blushes darkly, embarrassment and anger surge through him; his jaw has clenched so tight it hurts, and it takes effort for him not to begin yelling at her where everyone can overhear. Solas can't stop himself from reaching for her abruptly, his hand clenching around her large bicep as he drags her suddenly into a nearby storage closet. She must have wanted to go with him or else he wouldn't have been able to move her; either that or he has managed to catch her off-guard. He summons a wisp for light and casts a quick silencing ward.

"Say it," he demands. "Whatever in the Void you have to say, say it, Taashathi. I am tired of these games."

"There is nothing to say, Solas," she snaps. "You have made your feelings perfectly clear."

"Have I?" He is nearly shouting now, days’ worth of sadness and worry exploding in a wave of anger even he did not expect. "Because I have no idea what is going on!"

He is met with silence. Around them in the closet, the Veil crackles with their energy, two mages whose emotions are running high. It is highly volatile, oppressive, and dizzying.

"You don't want me!" she exclaims suddenly. "The kiss in the Fade was _impulsive_ and _ill-considered_. I pressured you into it, and you behaved as you shouldn't have. I can't… I can't…" She tries to reach for the doorknob, but Solas manages to grab her wrist.

"I didn't say _any_ of that," he exhales quickly. "I… I used some of those words, Taashathi, but none of that is what I meant." She looks at him, then, confusion clear on her pretty face. Something inside of him unwinds, a tension he hadn't been aware of, and the ache which was present begins to lesson. A stupid misunderstanding. It was all just a misunderstanding. He's not sure whether he wants to laugh or cry.

"What are you saying?" she says softly.

He's desperately trying to figure out what to say to make it clear, but his brain is malfunctioning in his relief. He wants to be as clear as possible to her. "The Fade lowers inhibitions," he answers. "It is more difficult to resist your desires there, and I was already having a difficult time resisting them in the waking world." He lets go of her wrist, reaching up to cradle her cheek. "You are beautiful… and kind… and selfless. You are strong and intelligent. You care about your people… about all people."

She leans against his hand, his thumb stroking her cheekbone gently. She inhales a shaky breath and takes a step forward, leaning closer to him until their foreheads are touching. She is shaking, still. "But… but you said we should remain professional. You said it was improper. You said the kiss wasn't how you _should_ behave," she whispers.

He swallows hard and nods. "I said those things," he admits, "but I rather think we are past remaining professional and proper." She laughs nervously, a slight chuckle of warm air brushes across his lips. It is all he can do to stop himself from kissing her. "As for the kiss… I lost control. I pushed things too fast. If I had not stopped when I did…"

"We could have had even _more_ fun," she whispers.

"Temptress," he teases.

"So, what does this _mean_ , Solas?" Her hands move to his waist pulling him flush against her, and he does not resist.

"It means, I have not forgotten the kiss," he whispers.

"Neither have I," she says softly. "But what-"

"It means, I would very much like to kiss you now."

"But-"

"It means, I am yours if you will have me."

"Oh," she breathes softly. He is holding his breath waiting for her answer; his heart thrumming wildly in his chest. He is so nervous, he nearly misses the subtle nod of agreement.

He claims her lips almost roughly, the emotion of the last few weeks exploding in a wild detonation. His tongue surges forward sliding over her plump lips eagerly. She moans softly, still trembling in his arms, and sways unsteadily. And then they are moving, she is stumbling backward, just a few steps in the tiny closet until she hits crates or barrels and he is pressed against her.

All talk of the kiss in the Fade being improper is gone. Her hands land on his ass, pulling him closer as she moves her hips against him. A low growl escapes him as he feels himself begin to harden in his breeches. She must feel it too because she lets out a soft moan. His hands move to her ass and he realizes whatever she is pressed against is a short stack; with a sudden burst of strength, he lifts her onto it (glad they don't have to go far). The stacks put her at his height and as he surges forward to claim her lips again, her legs wrap around his waist.

Their body heat and breathing have made the closet oppressive, and the Veil is crackling with a new type of energy. He pulls away from the kiss to take in her expression; her purple eyes were blown wide with desire, plump lips parted as she pants for air. He is willing himself to move slow, willing himself to have control. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He feels her lean forward and nuzzle his neck gently.

"Hey… anyone seen Boss?" Bull's voice breaks through their silence and she grins against his neck. Solas has stiffened against her, and she moves to press a gentle, almost chaste kiss to his lip.

"No," Varric replies. "Chuckles is missing, too." There is suddenly a flurry of movement on the other side of the door and he sinks against her. It is clear the Inquisition is now looking for them, no doubt worried something untoward has happened.

"We should get back," he whispers. "Although I'm not sure how it will be missed if we go back together, now."

She nods in agreement. "I'll go first," she replies.

The door is thrown open, and they jump in unison. Solas glances over his shoulder to find himself eye-to-eye with the Iron Bull. "Shit," the Ben-Hassrath mumbles. He squeezes into the closet and shuts the door.

Solas inhales sharply as he is suddenly pressed closer to Taashathi, Bull's massive bulk is overwhelming. "By the Void, Bull," he hisses. "Get out!"

"Sorry… I panicked. Didn't expect to find the two of you in here, you know," the warrior replies.

Solas' head is resting on Taashathi's breasts, and his hips are trapped against her. He can hardly breathe as he shifts to attempt to get somewhat more comfortable.

"We're not… doing _that_ ," Taashathi whispers. "We're just making up."

"Making up? Alright, Boss!" From his awkward position, Solas _hears_ the high five more than he sees it, and he is suddenly mortified. "I _told_ you he was into you."

"You _talked_ about it?" he asks, his voice squeaking.

Taashathi shrugs, the movement jostling Solas slightly. "He's my best friend. Of course, we talked about it."

Solas is blushing deeply, and he is almost thankful that between the odd shadows cast by the wisp and the way he is trapped between the Qunari and the Vashoth it is not visible. He shifts slightly and feels something pressed against his ass. "Taashathi… please… please tell me that is your hand on my…"

Bull laughs. "Oh… that is _not_ a hand."

"Fenedhis, Bull! Get out!" he exclaims.

"Okay okay," he grumbles. "Look, I'll go first and distract them all. You two come back one at a time and just… play it cool."

Solas relaxes a bit. "You… you would do that?"

"Yeah… this is new, right?" Bull says. "You guys deserve some time to keep it to yourselves before the rumors start."

Taashathi shifts. "Thank you, Bull." The warrior moves, opening the door a moment later. Taashathi presses a kiss to Solas' forehead. "That reading primer," she says softly. "Bring it to my room tonight. I've missed you."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas loses a friend.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _The sweet hum of the Anchor is soothing, and he can't help but reach out to his power which is interwoven with her so deeply. "How can you be so sure it's me?" he asks raising an eyebrow at her. "How are you certain I am not a demon come to tempt you?"_
> 
> _She laughs. "I just… know, somehow. Besides… any demon who wanted to tempt me while looking like you would show up naked."_
> 
> _He flushes, and barely prevents his desire from manifesting in exactly such way. It wouldn't do for him to become naked at a thought, simply because she suggested it. He licks his lips and tries to focus on his resolve. "Is that so?" he asks, his tone a bit more teasing than he had wished._
> 
> _"That's so," she leans forward to whisper into his ear. Her breath is warm and tantalizing, and it sends a shudder down his spine. "You know, I've been thinking… we haven't… because of tents and other people, but here… here we're alone."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some angst, because All New, Faded for Her. Smut next chapter, I promise.
> 
> * * *
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [enigmalea](http://enigmalea.tumblr.com). Drop me drabble prompts, anon love, or anon hate in my ask. [Click here](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/post/185117840754) for instructions on how to submit a prompt, and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19825843) to read completed prompts.
> 
> You can also find me on Discord at [The Hanged Man](https://discordapp.com/invite/8FsBN4p), which focuses on DA fanfic and is for readers, writers, and betas alike! (Please note the server is NSFW and 18+ only.)

"The man nodded. In the dim lah-lah-ant-earn… lantern… light, Donnen could see that he was duh-res-id?" Taashathi pauses, face screwed up in frustration. Solas runs a hand through her white hair, his fingers massaging her scalp gently. She glances up at him from where her head lay in his lap, seconds away from insulting herself or giving up; he can see it on her face.

"Dressed, that's right," he says softly with an encouraging nod. "You're doing fantastic."

The wisps float above them, providing light in their tent. This has become their routine as they make their way to the Exalted Plains, after a long day of travel, to curl up together in their tent while Taashathi practices reading and writing as the others sleep. She is a quick study, in spite of how much she protests otherwise.

"Sorry," she says sighing and closing her eyes.

"It's fine," he encourages, barely biting back the word which had been on the tip of his tongue for days - _vhenan_. Every time he comes close his stomach drops, his heart clenching in fear as if saying the word will somehow make it more real than thinking it. He swallows hard. "Try again."

Taashathi smiles up at him and nods, clearing her throat and beginning to whisper slightly more confidently. "In the dim lantern light, Donnen could see he was dressed in a…" she stops. "I… I don't…"

Solas shifts so that he can read easier. "That's tough," he encourages. "Gaudy brocade doublet."

She nods. "Gaudy brocade doublet," she repeats, pushing forward, "but had th-th-rown a ch-cha—in. Cha in?"

"Chain," Solas corrects.

"Oh! Chain mail!" she exclaims excitedly. He smiles at her excitement, leaning forward to kiss her gently. "Shirt over it," she finishes, her breath brushing over his lips. She sighs heavily. "Can you read the last sentence in this paragraph?" she asks. "I'm tired, and I'd like to sleep soon."

He runs a finger down her cheek and nods, reaching for the book. As soon as he takes it she stands, sliding her breeches over her hips. He has gotten used to seeing her this way, but he still can't stop himself from watching the exposure of her muscular thighs, the flex of her calves as she moves to push her breeches to the ground. With some difficulty (and a realization his cheeks and ear tips have flushed), he finds her place.

"He wore the helmet from an obviously ceremonial armor set, slightly askew on his head," he reads. Their bedrolls are already laid out and as he finishes the sentence she stretches out and reaches for him. He slides next to her, still holding the book. "You're almost done with this chapter. Do you want me to finish it?" he asks.

Taashathi thinks it over as she wraps her arms around him. "No. I want to do it. It's hard, but… I think I'm getting it."

"You are. It's difficult to believe you've only been reading a few weeks," he assures her again. He lets the book close shut, tossing it rather haphazardly toward his pack. It lands with a soft _thud_ , barely audible over the sound of Blackwall's snoring.

"Well, I don't think most new readers have lovers who can teach them in the Fade," she says with a grin. One long leg hooks over his, pulling him closer as she presses a kiss to the bridge of his nose.

He can't help it, he is smiling with her, curling into her as his arm finds her waist. "It is a clear advantage, to be sure," he agrees.

"You aren't upset, are you?"

"Hmm?" he asks dragging his eyes up from where he was contemplating kissing her neck to her eyes. "About what?"

"That I chose to study to become a Knight Enchanter," she said after a pause. "I realize now, I should have studied Rift magic so you could help me, but-"

"I'm not upset. If I'm not mistaken, the techniques you use descend from those of ancient elven mages called arcane warriors," he answers.

"I doubt they were called arcane warriors in Elvhen,” she says. Her hand has traveled up his arm, her fingertips dancing lightly on his bicep. He sighs at the feel of it even through his tunic; he has become used to this casual intimacy, the gentle stroking and calm kissing rather than the explosive passion of their earlier encounters; he has come to crave it, to delight in it, to savor every moment.

"Astute, as usual, Taashathi," he whispers. "The formal name for the techniques you have learned was dirth'ena enasalin, knowledge that leads to victory."

"Dirth… can you say it again?" she asks. He smiles, knowing what she is doing. She has asked him to teach her Elvhen, in addition to everything else she has requested. She mastered the Fade step weeks ago and is progressing in learning Trade, so now it is this. He's not sure if she thinks she must continue to ask to be taught things to keep his interest, or if she truly is this insatiable for knowledge. He suspects it is some combination of both.

"I doubt any Dalish we run into in the Dales will know of-"

She sighs. "Please, just repeat it," she begs, her breath warm against his cheek where she is nuzzling against it. "I love to listen to you speak Elvhen."

Ah. He is weak to her whims. He wouldn't have held out long anyway, but especially not now that he knows something so simple brings her happiness. He shifts slightly, entangling his legs with hers more fully. "Dirth'ena enasalin."

"Dirth'ena enasalin," she repeats.

He nods. "Mages who eschewed physical confrontation called it ghilan'him banal'vhen, the path that leads astray."

"What can you tell me about them?" she whispers, and then she yawns.

He wants to indulge her curiosity, to spend hours talking about Elvhenan as it was, but he cannot. "Nothing which cannot wait until some other time," he tells her. He presses a kiss to her jawline and her fingers falter on his arm as her eyes slide closed. "You wanted to stop reading because you were tired."

"And I wanted to talk with you," she protests. "What do you think they would think of me using dirth'ena enasalin?"

"I believe having something they created carried forward, even in a different form, would gratify them. Now, go to sleep, Taashathi," he whispers. "We can speak of dirth'ena enasalin or any number of things in the Fade. We have a long day of travel. We should reach the borders of the Dales in the morning."

"Do we have to go to sleep?" she complains. She presses her forehead to his, and Solas can't help the murmur of contentment which escapes him.

"Yes, my dear Inquisitor," he sighs, "it is time to say good-bye to the land of the waking."

"But-" she tries to protest. He presses a kiss to her neck, and she lets out a soft moan which goes through him. It is difficult to resist indulging in _more_ , but tents have made it nearly impossible, and even the rooms at Caer Bronach were not as private as they wished for their first time. Restraint has been the game they play at and it is trying. He knows he should be better, should not indulge, because no matter how they feel their time together will be fleeting; his duty calls him… but he has become a very selfish man lately.

He resolutely presses a kiss to her lips before turning in her arms. She squeezes him closer, his back pressing against her breasts, and he sighs softly. This had been odd, initially, her wrapping around him protectively as they slept, but he has slowly become used to it. She presses a hand flat to his stomach, and he laces his fingers with hers. "Solas," she whispers softly. He holds his breath; there is something about her tone which makes him think she is going to say something important. "Goodnight," she settles.

"Goodnight," he whispers.  
  


* * *

 

He doesn't go to her immediately. He is guilty of letting her believe they spend nearly all of their dreaming time together; in reality, he visits his Agents, providing orders, recruiting others, gathering intelligence. He is close to reclaiming the Eluvian network for his own, rectifying Felassan's betrayal. That still stings, the memory of what he was driven to do; regret sits heavily in his chest, not in the least because it seems Felassan was right. Not only are modern elves worth more respect than he believed, but Taashathi (and, perhaps to a less of an extent, the rest of the Inquisition) has shown him that even other races are worth consideration.

Even still, he knows he cannot deviate. The world must be whole again.

He shoves the thoughts down deep as he leaves his last agent, stepping into a part of the Fade belonging to no one's dreams before shedding the shape of Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf. It feels good to be the right shape again, rather than something large and fearsome; it is good to be a man and not a God. The Anchor makes it easy to find her, but he is not sure he would need it any longer. He has come to know her so well; he is relatively sure he could find her signature in the Fade any time he wished. She is a beacon.

Taashathi is replaying a memory, quiet and soft. She is young and her parents are showing her how to summon fire in the palm of her hand, as the Valo-Kas share food and stories in Qunlat around the fire. He hasn't asked her if her parents were with her at the Conclave, hasn't wanted to bring up bad memories, but he realizes now what a poor decision that has been. He _should_ know. He is not eager to interrupt but feels awkward watching, so he hangs on that precipice, wondering what the correct course of action is.

She glances up from her hand, those vibrant eyes looking past him at first. He turns to see what is behind him, but there is nothing in the woods. He turns back to her, her eyes lock onto his, and he knows she _sees_ him. She is no longer a somewhat awkward pre-teen, but the woman he has come to care deeply for. "Solas," she says softly, as the dream fades, forgotten. She crosses to him, hooking a finger under his chin to lift it slightly; she kisses him gently, lacing the fingers of the hand which contains the Anchor with his.

The sweet hum of the Anchor is soothing, and he can't help but reach out to his power which is interwoven with her so deeply. "How can you be so sure it's me?" he asks raising an eyebrow at her. "How are you certain I am not a demon come to tempt you?"

She laughs. "I just… know, somehow. Besides… any demon who wanted to tempt me while looking like you would show up naked."

He flushes, and barely prevents his desire from manifesting in exactly such way. It wouldn't do for him to become naked at a thought, simply because she suggested it. He licks his lips and tries to focus on his resolve. "Is that so?" he asks, his tone a bit more teasing than he had wished.

"That's so," she leans forward to whisper into his ear. Her breath is warm and tantalizing, and it sends a shudder down his spine. "You know, I've been thinking… we haven't… because of tents and other people, but here… here we're alone."

His eyes fall closed at the suggestion, his heart rate picks up, and he squeezes her hand as he feels her tongue dart out to trace the shell of his ear. He is at war with himself. "I… I thought you weren't interested in…" he exhales sharply as she nips at his earlobe. He swallows hard, trying to focus on his words, even as his traitorous mind and body rebel. "I thought you weren't interested in _doing it_ in the Fade," he manages.

"I'm also not interested in waiting until we get back to Skyhold," she says softly. Her thoughts of Skyhold have summoned it to the Fade, his rotunda specifically. He notices it is missing the third fresco – she hadn't seen it. She pulls away from him and laughs as she looks around. "Maybe I'm more eager to get back than I thought."

His laugh joins hers, and his free hand tangles in her hair as he pulls her down for a kiss. "My office, though? Really?" he whispers against her lips.

It is her turn to blush. "Your desk is sturdy enough to hold me, I think," she whispers.

"It sounds like you've thought of this a lot," he teases, taking a step closer to her. "Tell me what you've-" He is interrupted by a ripple in the Fade, something… out of place and ominous. It hits him hard. The cry comes again, clearer, in Elvish. " _Solas! Help!_ "

He gasps, dropping Taashathi's hand. Wisdom. Wisdom needs him.

"Solas?" Taashathi asks, confusion twisting her features. "What's-"

"I must go!" he strangles out. His heart is now pounding with adrenaline and fear, rather than barely restrained desire. Something is _very_ wrong.

"But-"

"Vhenan, I am sorry. I _must_ go." And with a thought, he is gone as Wisdom lets out another strangled cry. He has appeared in its area of the Fade, but Wisdom is not there. " _Solas!"_ He spins to face the cry. " _Wisdom? Wisdom what is_ -" He sees them then, barely, the shadowy outlines of mages, barely visible in how they manipulate the Fade, grasping clumsily at power. Their shadowy hands clutch Wisdom's arms.

" _Solas! Help!_ " it cries reaching for him.

He clasps its hand with both of his, heaving with all his might as he summons his willpower to him to erect a barrier. The tugging on his friend slacks for a moment, and then begins again. This time there are more of them. He isn't strong enough. Not against three mages. Not now. He should have brought Taashathi. He should have come quicker.

" _Wisdom. Fight them_ ," he encourages. He feels Wisdom's power join his own and for a moment it looks as if they will gain ground. His heart plummets as he feels Wisdom's hand slip. " _No!_ " he shouts, and then it is gone.

Rage consumes him and he feels his form shift into that of the wolf without his conscious thought. He can sense them better this way, and he follows the trail through the Fade to where they are. It stretches the limit of his power, but he is able to temporarily cross into the physical world in this form, hiding in the shadows. The landscape is familiar… it is too bad for these mages the Inquisition is already headed in their direction.  
  


* * *

 

"NO!"

The cry which has been resounding in his head has followed him to the waking world as he sits straight up in the bedroll. He throws off his covering as Taashathi blinks blearily up at him.

"Solas? What is it?"

Some of their party is already stirring, and he can hear their inquiries about his shout. He ducks out of the tent, heedless of the fact he is only wearing leggings and pours himself some tea from the pot which is suspended above the cooking fire. He tosses it back without a thought, knowing the caffeine will chase the last of the fog from his brain. They are staring at him, at the expression of disgust, he has made.

"Something wrong with your tea?" Cassandra asks.

"It is tea. I detest the stuff," he replies, "but this morning I need to shake the dreams from my mind."

Taashathi has pulled on breeches and has joined them. He can see she wants to reach out to comfort him, but she stops herself. "What's wrong?" she asks.

"I may also need a favor," he says. The few companions who were not awake and preparing for the journey have joined them. He is sure it was his cry which caused them to wander out watery-eyed and unhappy.

"You only have to ask," Vivienne says, all haughtiness missing from her tone. Solas is barely able to keep the shock from his face. He had known, in a passing way, that for all her teasing about his sense of fashion (and that time he'd managed to singe his own robes), Vivienne respected him begrudgingly, but to witness it in such a stark way has struck him nearly speechless.

He clears his throat, not sure how they will take this explanation, but also not caring. He needs help. Wisdom needs help. "One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages; forced into slavery. I heard the cry for help as I slept."

Taashathi stiffens next to him. She must realize that's why he left her. "We'd be happy to help," she assures him.

"What did these mages use to capture your friend?" Dorian presses, barely stifling a yawn. "Blood magic?"

"A summoning circle, I would imagine," Solas replies darkly. He is suddenly wishing he'd thrown on his tunic. It is a chilly morning, and the fire is not nearly warm enough. He crosses his arms over his chest.

"I'm sorry?" Vivienne asks, arching one perfectly groomed eyebrow in his direction. This is where it will fall apart, where he will be left to help Wisdom on his own.

"My friend is a Spirit of Wisdom," he admits softly. "Unlike the Spirits clamoring to enter our world through the rifts, it was dwelling quite happily in the Fade." He can hear the collective unease in the silence which follows.

Taashathi breaks the silence as she takes a step closer to him. She nearly reaches for his hand, and he almost wishes she would do it. He could use the comfort. "Do you have any idea what the mages want with your friend?"

"No," he answers. "It knows a great deal of lore and history, but a mage could learn that simply by speaking with it in the Fade. It _is_ possible that they seek information it does not wish to give and intend to torture it." He has not dwelled on the why before now, but it occurs to him they could want information on _him_. Perhaps they have heard whisperings about Fen'Harel and wish to know what he is up to. His stomach plummets.

"Alright, Solas. Let's go get your friend," the Iron Bull practically growls, and Solas' eyes widen in surprise. Bull is not well known for his compassion for Spirits, but perhaps knowing Cole has changed that. Perhaps, simply, it is the idea of an innocent being tortured. Whatever it is Solas is grateful.

"Thank you. It was summoned to the Dales, I can mark the location on our maps," he offers. "I got a sense of where it was summoned before I awoke."

"We'll be faster in a small group," Cassandra speaks up. "Some of us will go with you, and the Herald, the rest will remain here to pack up the camp. We can meet up at the Inquisition camp in the South." She stands, instantly taking charge. "Those of you who are coming with us, pack lightly."

"Us?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"If a Spirit has come here, it is likely a demon, now," Cassandra begins. "I am the best equipped to-"

"Wait, please," he strangles out. "I am grateful for the offer of help, Seeker, but I would rather not hurt it if it can be avoided." His eyes scan the gathered group. "We… may be able to set it free by breaking the summoning circle."

"But-" Cassandra protests.

"This is Solas' friend," Taashathi interrupts. "We're going to do this his way. Who should come, Solas?"

His eyes sweep the gathered party. He has no idea what they will find when they arrive. Cole should not have to see it. Sera would be unnerved around Wisdom. Varric maybe… his eyes land on Bull and Blackwall, and he sighs heavily. His instinct tells him there is more to Blackwall, and he still isn't quite sure what to make of Bull's loyalty, even though he has left the Qun. "Bull, Varric, let's go."  
  


* * *

 

They were not terribly far from the Exalted Plains and with just a couple of hours of fast-paced riding (likely pushing their horses too hard), they are as close as they feel they can get without riding directly into trouble. It takes them but a moment to tie up their horses near water and to hide their packs, and then they are on foot. The area is relatively abandoned.

"Thank you for this," he tells them as he leads the way. "We are not far from where my friend was summoned." The stench hits him, the smell of something dead and decaying; even though he has experienced it often, he will never get used to it. His stomach lurches, and he feels vaguely nauseous. The flies buzz as Solas approaches the body, kneeling. "One of the mages, killed by arrows, it would seem."

"Bandits, by the look of it," Varric offers as an explanation for how the mage died, but Solas isn't so sure. An uneasiness has settled with him, a vague sort of dismay he can't come to grips with. It is Taashathi who spots the next body, and as he nears it his dismay blooms into something more sinister.

"These aren't mages," he growls. "These are the bandits. The bodies are burned… and these claw marks." It is worse than he has feared. He knew it may be taking too long, that there was a chance Wisdom would not have been strong enough to resist, but for it to have already turned… "No. No. No. No." His voice sounds alien to him, anguished and torn. He cannot decide whether he wants to run _from_ this or toward it.

"Those look like demon's claws," Bull observes, and then as soon as the words are out, he hears a soft, "shit" as the implication sinks in.

Taashathi places a hand on his shoulder and it takes everything he has not to break from her kindness. She doesn't seem to truly understand, but she sees his distress and wants to help. She can't. He swallows as he forces himself to stand. "Solas?" she whispers softly, questioning their course of action.

"We move on," he answers resolutely, though he doesn't feel resolute. The anger is just above simmering now, tension gathering in his jaw and shoulders and chest. He is angry at himself for creating a world where corrupting a Spirit from their purpose has become _easy_ and _commonplace_ , angry at the mages for believing this is _okay_ that it is okay to deprive someone of their agency in this manner, angry he didn't try hard enough to protect Wisdom, angry he failed to prevent it from being taken, angry that he is not strong enough to have simply thought them out of existence. 

He is practically vibrating with fury when he seems the Pride demon, and suddenly the fury is knocked from him, overwhelmed by pain. The gasp which leaves him is involuntary. "My friend!"

"We're too late?" Taashathi asks. "The mages have turned your friend into a demon."

"Yes." The word slices at the pain, and his wrath bubbles forth again. He has to distract himself, to prevent himself from killing the mages immediately (wherever they are), so he tugs at his gloves, gives them his attention. It is something to do with his hands, something to keep him occupied. It doesn't help him as he would hope. "A spirit becomes a demon when denied its original purpose."

"But you said your friend was a wisdom spirit-"

" _That_ is not its natural form!" Solas seethes. Taashathi seems to shrink and he feels a twinge of regret that he is not more in control of his emotions. She is just trying to understand, trying to help. "It has been corrupted! What did they do? What did they do? What did they _do_?" The words flow from him without meaning or purpose like a mantra. He has lost control of his composure, his hands moving to pull at hair he has been keeping magically shorn for a year. The motion is futile.

"So… they summoned it for something so opposed to its own nature - fighting - that it was corrupted?" she clarifies softly, calmly, trying to get him to focus. He wants to shout at her that now is not the time for academia, that he can explain after they help Wisdom, and yet he was the one losing his mind just a few seconds ago.

He sees movement out of the corner of his eye, and he spins on the mage. He is sure he looks every bit the predator he feels; his eyes are likely flashing violet more than gray as his emotions run rampant. The man hesitates. "Perhaps we should ask them," he growls.

"A mage?" the strangers asks hesitantly. "You're not with the bandits? Do you have any lyrium potions? Most of us are exhausted. We've been fighting that demon."

"You summoned that demon, except it was a spirit of wisdom at the time," Solas fumes. "You made it kill! You twisted it against its purpose!"

"I… I… I understand how it might be confusing to someone who has not studied demons, but after you help us-"

" _We_ are not here to help _you_ ," he sneers, his tone dripping with unabashed hatred.

"Word of advice," Varric speaks up from behind them. Solas had almost forgotten about Varric and Bull. "I'd hold off on explaining how demons work to my friend here."

"Listen to me! I was one of the foremost experts in the Kirkwall Circle," the mage begins haughtily.

"Shut. Up," Solas snaps.

"Claiming to be from Kirkwall isn't really gonna help you with this audience," Varric adds, "trust me."

"You summoned it, to protect you from the bandits," Solas stated.

"I… yes," the mage admits his face falling.

"You bound it to obedience and then commanded it to kill - that is when it turned! The summoning circle; we break it, we break the binding. No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, no demon," Solas explains. He had known they would have to break the summoning circle, either way, but he could only hope Wisdom was not so far gone that it could not change back.

"What? The binding is the only thing keeping the demon from killing us. Whatever it was before, it is a monster now," the mage explains.

"Taashathi, _please_." The plea falls from him in a strangled tone, and she looks at him piteously.

"I'll do everything I can to save your friend, Solas," she promises.

"Thank you," he says, relief coloring his tone. She reaches for his hand, but the pride demon roars in distance.

"We must hurry!" He takes off in a sprint for the summoning circle and pulls up short of it.

"Point me in the direction of what to hit," Bull says.

"The crystals," Solas says, pointing out the large stalagmites. "Those five should do it."

"What's the plan here?" Varric asks.

"Avoid hitting the demon," Taashathi says firmly. "Bull, Varric, you stay close enough together Solas can keep barriers on you. Try to dodge its attacks and stay on the move. Solas, distract it if you have to."

"What about you, Boss?" Bull asks raising an eyebrow.

"Don't worry about me. I can handle my own barrier and my abilities as a Knight Enchanter should prevent it from falling, just… stay safe, and help Solas' friend," she answers.

Solas wants to pull her into a hug and never let her go. He is so grateful she is willing to listen to him, so happy there is a chance they can save Wisdom, he can't think of a thing to say which won't give away their relationship.

And then she is gone, a barrier raises as she runs past the Pride demon without flinching. He hears the familiar sound of her spirit sword striking at a far crystal, and as the Pride demon turns to her, he casts a barrier around Bull and Varric. Bull heads for the nearest crystal and his axe hits it with a resounding _crack_.

The demon spins to face the two men, letting out a roar. It rears back, ready to swipe at them as Solas tosses a fireball near its head. It spins to face where the explosion went off, and the first crystal shatters. As the demon falls to a knee, he sees Taashathi Fade Step toward another crystal.

The Pride demon is back on its feet in an instant, and it turns on Taashathi who is wailing away on the crystal with all her strength; she glows with the light of a barrier which isn't fading, strengthened by the damage her sword is doing. For a moment, Solas is stunned by how fiercely she shines, distracted by the fiery light of her abilities, as bright as Mythal in all her battle glory. He inhales sharply as it swipes at her, but she Fade steps away at the last moment, backing from the crystal and avoiding phasing through the demon and causing it injury.

The second crystal shatters and Bull and Varric begin to move again. "Solas!" Bull calls, "head in the game."

He was so distracted by Taashathi's power, by the beauty of her magic, he'd missed when his barrier had fallen. The demon roars and swipes at Bull and Varric; the dwarf has to backflip to miss getting hit and Bull spins to see if the dwarf needs help. "Shit!" The demon is tracking Varric, its rage focused on him as he continues backing up and firing Bianca at the crystal Bull was going for.

"Chuckles, Tiny… a little help here?" Varric calls tensely.

"Shatter the crystal, hopefully, it will distract it!" Solas shouts to Bull. Bull nods and moves for the crystal, letting out a roar as he swings hard enough his axe is lodged in it. Now, they're really screwed. The warrior plants a foot on the crystal, pushing with his leg as he pulls the handle of his axe. They're too far apart for Solas to cast a barrier on both of them and choosing one or the other isn't ideal. He does not want to hurt Wisdom.

He freezes, indecision making it difficult to move, to breathe, to think.

"Hey! Ugly! Over here!" He hears Taashathi's mind blast rather than sensing it or witnessing it. It rattles the crystal she's standing next to, and Solas hears it crack. The radius of the blast wasn't enough to reach the pride demon, but it distracts it, and it spins, ignoring Varric and closing on Taashathi. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Varric takes a few steps toward the crystal Bull's axe is stuck in, and kneels, propping Bianca on the built-in bipod for stabilization, and Solas watches in fascination as Varric takes a bolt from a special pouch on his belt and over-cranks his weapon. "Move, Tiny!" He calls.

Bull lets go of his axe and steps out of the way as Taashathi swings her sword at the crystal she is working on; Varric's bolt explodes on impact, taking the crystal with it the same time as Taashathi's explodes. The pride demon stumbles back toward the center of what used to be the summoning the circle falling to its knees and panting.

Bull picks up his axe and the four of them begin the assault on the last crystal, Solas throwing his own fireballs into the mix. It shatters quickly, and the form of the Pride demon melts away to reveal the form of Wisdom, tortured and weak.

Solas breaks as he falls to his knees before his friend. " _My dear friend_ _… I'm sorry_ ," he says in Elvish. He does not want the rest of them to overhear… not even Taashathi.

" _I'm not sorry. I'm happy. I'm me again_ ," Wisdom replies, though he can hear the pain in its voice. " _You helped me. Now, you must endure. Guide me into death_."

He looks away from it at the request; he wants to protest, to scream he will not do such a thing, to tell Wisdom he will figure out a way to heal it, but he knows it is too late; it is too far gone; the danger it could revert back to a pride demon is too great, and it is clearly in pain. Tears threaten to spill from his eyes. " _As you wish_ ," he answers, with more resolve than he feels.

He closes his eyes and focuses on the energy which makes up his friend, and imagines it pulling apart, the pieces of Wisdom dissipating slowly back into the Fade, and when he summons his mana, to make his though reality… it is done. "Dareth shiral," he whispers.

"Damn," the sound of Bull's voice reaches him as he stands slowly.

"Well… shit," Varric whispers.

"Solas?" Taashathi's voice is tentative, "I'm sorry. I… wish I could have done more."

"You did all you could," he tells her. "We gave it a moment's peace before the end. That's more than it might have had." He is trying to school his expression so that she doesn't take more of the blame for his pain than she should, but he can tell she sees past his mask.

"Let me know if I can help in any way," she takes a step closer, and it takes everything he has not to fall against her and begin sobbing.

"You already have," he states. One of the mages shifts behind Taashathi, and his rage flares again. He narrows his eyes at them. "Now all that remains is them," he growls, stalking past Taashathi angrily.

"Thank you," the human has the nerve to say, and Solas nearly swings on him. "We would not have risked a summoning, but the roads are too dangerous to travel unprotected."

"You! You tortured and *killed* my friend."

"We didn't know it was just a Spirit! The book said it could help us!" he argues, as he begins backpedaling from where Solas is stalking him.

The flame leaps to his hand without a thought, and he is seconds away from incinerating them when Taashathi's voice breaks through the fog of his rage. "Solas!" she calls.

He freezes, the flame still burning. He is shaking, torn between killing them now, getting the instant satisfaction letting the smolder, and waiting until later when at least Taashathi will not know him for the monster he is. He feels her hand on his back, soothing and strong. The flame dies out. He is not good enough for her, not nearly. They will still pay, but Taashathi does not have to know about it.

"Never again," he growls his promise to the man in front of him, and the man stupidly nods his head, as if Solas would take his word. He looks away, swallows hard, and looks from Taashathi to Varric and Bull. "I need some time alone," he tells them. "I will meet you back at Skyhold."

He stalks off, headed for their horses and packs but only manages a few steps before Taashathi stops him. "Solas, wait. Please don't be mad at me. I promise they will not go unpunished."

He sighs at his selfishness, at how he did not think how this would look to her. He reaches for her hands and squeezes them gently. "I am not angry with you; I am just angry… and tired… and… I am useless to the Inquisition right now. I promise I will see you back at Skyhold."

"But… that could be weeks… months," she whispers, her eyes sad.

"I will return to you as soon as I can," he promises. He reaches out a hand to cup her left cheek and runs his thumb along the scar which runs the length of it. He pulls her to him slowly, pressing their foreheads together; this is more difficult than it should be, but he knows he must go. It is not right for him to stay when he will be of no help. "I will see you soon, Taashathi. I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhh!! I dunno how I forgot this, but I got a gorgeous commission of Solas/Taashathi forever ago. [Click here](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/post/186823234399) to see it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas returns to the Inquisition after the loss of his friend.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _Taashathi finally lets him go, though it is clear she is reluctant to do so. He can't blame her; he wants nothing more than to climb into bed and hold her and be held by her and talk about nothing and everything. Her soft voice and vibrant eyes alleviate the worst of his tension. He feels so distant from the Inquisition, now; he has no idea what has happened in the three weeks he has been gone. He wants to ask how everyone is, what they are doing, where they stand in their research, how he can help; there are so many questions he is overwhelmed by them._
> 
> _She must sense his disquiet, because she rocks on her feet slightly before she says, "How are you, Solas?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [enigmalea](http://enigmalea.tumblr.com). Drop me drabble prompts, anon love, or anon hate in my ask. [Click here](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/post/185117840754) for instructions on how to submit one, and [here](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/tagged/my-drabbles) to read completed prompts.
> 
> You can also find me on Discord at [The Hanged Man](https://discordapp.com/invite/8FsBN4p), which focuses on DA fanfic and is for readers, writers, and betas alike! (Please note the server is NSFW and 18+ only.)
> 
> * * *
> 
> Did I promise smut in this chapter? I can't remember. If I did, I'm sorry. Solas got all up in his feels. But I can tell you with 100% certainty that the next chapter starts with that good smut.
> 
> For now, buckle in for a feels rollercoaster. ~~Sorry, not sorry.~~

He rides. He rides until his horse can go no further, until he can no longer hold back the agony which has been building, surging up in waves to fill the emptiness in his stomach and chest. He dismounts with the intention of making camp, but when his feet hit the ground, his knees collapse, and the uncontrollable sobs bubble up unexpectedly.

He cannot breathe, cannot think, cannot do anything but let the grief wash over him in waves. He crumples to the ground, heedless of stones and roots and moss; he has no idea how long he lies there, tears streaming down his face, gasping for air, but when he becomes aware of his body again, it is cold and dark and the ground is damp with dew.

The worst part of it all is that even uthenera can no longer provide comfort. Without Wisdom, the Fade no longer seems as brilliant, as captivating, and yet, he cannot walk away without _knowing_.

The energy of the Fade cannot be destroyed, as certain as matter can never truly be eradicated; it can only change form, dissipate and coalesce into something new. The only thing constant in the universe is change, both physical and metaphysical. But that knowledge does not bring comfort. Wisdom was not destroyed, but it will no longer be the same. What forms in its place can never know him as well as Wisdom but seeing that it was not an end may help.

He forces himself to his feet, forces himself to remove the saddle from his irritated horse and feed it. He peels out of his armor slowly to make himself more comfortable, rolls out a bedroll, and finally settles in with the intention to slip into the Fade.

But he is distracted.

He cannot think of anything now but the look of worry on Taashathi's face, of the way he was powerless to comfort her because he could not comfort himself, burned into his mind. She must be carrying the guilt of Wisdom's loss with her, and it certainly isn't her fault. He should be with her.

Except that is part of the problem, isn't it? He will, eventually, cause her pain. He cannot deviate from his path, cannot allow himself to leave the Veil in place, cannot allow this prejudice against Spirits to continue, but the cost of bringing it down, of fixing his past mistakes is destroying the woman he cares so deeply about.

How does he always get himself into these messes? Why can't anything ever go to plan? When did he become so soft?

There is a fleeting moment where he considers halting his plan. Taashathi is not immortal; he can wait. She never has to know how horrible he really is. He never has to bring her pain. Except the Veil is fraying, fragile and weak. His spell was never meant to last this long, was never meant to impact the world so profoundly; Corypheus' failed attempt at entering the Fade has only damaged it further. To allow it to continue on its current path would be far more harmful than to rip it down quickly. He cannot decide what to do, cannot think clearly, trapped in indecision fueled by grief.

His mind wanders back to the mages responsible for Wisdom's loss, to their stupidity and fear and utter carelessness for others. Taashathi has promised him they would see justice, but she is too soft. At most they will be forced into service for the Inquisition where they could be watched; the thought causes his stomach to lurch.

Rage is what finally moves him from inaction and forces him from the realm of the physical to the realm of Spirits. It doesn't take him long to find the man the mages let lead them down their destructive path. The Dread Wolf tracks his scent easily; the corruption of his action stains the Fade. The mage feels no guilt, no remorse, only fear, and it paints the Fade in shades of gray and black and dark crimson.

If Solas were a better man, seeing the mage's nightmares and how they were fuel for a terror demon would give him pause, but he is not a good man; he gives him no chance to speak, no chance for reprieve. The only mercy the Dread Wolf provides is a quick death. He knows it will not help, knows it will not bring Wisdom back, but as the Dread Wolf closes his mouth over the man's throat and the man paws uselessly at the large beasts' sides, Solas can't help but feel some sick twist of satisfaction. When the Inquisition's agents would try to rouse the man the next morning, he would have died, mysteriously, in his sleep.

He goes to where Wisdom used to reside, shedding the mien of the wolf and wishing it was that easy to shed the truth of his nature. Wisdom's home – half-library, half-palatial estate – has dissipated into non-existence; they had constructed it together, over time, for both of their comforts, a safe place in the Fade which was truly theirs. But with Wisdom gone, there is nothing but barren, brown dust which chokes him. Solas takes a seat on the arid, cracked mud and begins the long wait for something to stir in the Fade here.

He is unsure how long it takes before he senses the change in the area before the emptiness that was left by Wisdom's absence begins to fill. The ground begins to heal and something which mimics grass begins to sprout. It is weak and not at all cognizant, but it is enough to bring tears to his eyes which he blinks back.

There is a wisp and then another, bright and shining, colorless entities, so minuscule he can barely sense them. Will they merge into one being with a purpose? Will these diminutive motes form into something greater? He cannot know. He yearns to feed them some of his power, but he is so weak it won't make much difference, and as he is, dark emotions still lurking under the surface, he will certainly corrupt them; they will have no hope of becoming something like Wisdom. But it is enough, a balm to his languishing sole, which allows him to leave this place with his sorrow eased.

The first of the remaining mages is as easy to find as the leader. The area in which she dreams is relatively calm and draws no demons, but she is not alone. A little girl sits at a table, drawing pictures the way children do with charcoal, large, simplistic flowers taking up the page enthusiastically. She hums to herself as her mother washes up. The scene is so domestic, Solas does not wish to interrupt it.

She sees him in the corner of the kitchen before he can leave, and she lets out a gasp. "How did you get here?" She looks around blinking hazily and takes in her surroundings. "Where are we? What-" she spins to take in the little girl and starts abruptly. "I'm in the Fade. This is a dream. Are you a demon?"

"I am not a demon," he assures her, even as he feels her attempt to draw her power to herself as protection. The barrier lights against her dark skin but fizzles quickly. She's not used to casting here. "I am the same mage from the Dales."

She eyes him skeptically, brown eyes narrowed at him. "What do you want?" she asks. She shifts slightly, still on guard. She must realize her friend is dead by now, and if so, it has probably occurred to her (especially now she is in front of Solas who is in control here) that he died in the Fade.

"To talk," Solas replies simply. Her eyes dart to the Spirit who is diligently still acting out her dream. "Who is she?" He didn't mean to ask, but the question is there now, hanging.

The mage shifts, crossing her arms over her chest. "My daughter… or what I think my daughter would be like," she answers. She looks away from him. "I've never met her. She was taken… it doesn't matter. Are you here to kill me like you killed Henry?" He is, of course. Or was. Solas isn't used to hesitation, but he cannot help but think of Taashathi. She wanted him to spare them for some reason… and Wisdom… would it have wanted this? He doesn't answer. "I'm sorry about your friend." She sounds sincere, and Solas flinches. "I understand how you met her, now… you're a somniari. I thought those were only legends."

He is suddenly aware he is clenching his jaw, the physical and spiritual pain becoming overwhelming. He wills himself to relax. "Did you _want_ to summon a demon for _protection_?" The words taste like bile in his mouth, and he nearly chokes on the word demon. The image of Wisdom twisted into the Pride demon is all-encompassing for a moment.

"I… no. None of us are battle mages; Samuel is a spirit healer, and I'm… well, barely a mage. Just enough to be thrown into a Circle, and clever enough to make it through a Harrowing. Lucky, I guess, that I wasn't made tranquil. Henry was the only one of us who would have had a chance to protect us against bandits… and it was his idea…" she trails off and looks away from Solas, shifting on her feet awkwardly.

"And you just went along with it?" Solas snaps. The growl is subconscious, and he only realizes it is echoing across the Fade when the other mage takes a step back, her weak barrier floundering into place.

"I… I didn't know what else to do," she protests. "Henry said it was the only way for us to be able to protect ourselves… and… I didn't know… I didn't know Spirits and demons were the same. I… I've never really met a Spirit. I… if you're going to kill me, please, just do it. I don't want to try to convince you otherwise and fail. All I can offer are my apologies, and my sincere assurance I will never summon a demon or a Spirit again."

Solas swallows hard. He is trapped in indecision. If anything she says is true, he's not sure he has it in him to kill her. If she is guilty of anything, it is not being a strong mage, of ignorance, of being easy to manipulate. He doesn't need her assurances she won't bind a Spirit; he can sense she is not strong enough to have accomplished such a thing on her own. He is waffling, his own sense of purpose swaying him. Henry… with his arrogance and lack of remorse and insistence that Solas did not understand the way of the world deserved to die, but the mage before him… "When I said 'never', I meant it," Solas began, "if either you or Samuel cross the line and harms a Spirit ever again, I will know… and I will come for you."

 

* * *

 

The Frostbacks are cold, and the only thing which keeps Solas pushing his horse onward is the promise of his environmental spells being intact, and the pure desire to see Taashathi. He has stayed away too long, has grown unsettled and tense from being away from her. This does not bode well for when he has to leave… and he _will_ have to leave. He shoves the thoughts from his mind; for now, he can be with her, and that is enough. It has to be enough. He relaxes some when he sees the portcullis of Skyhold, and he dismounts his horse and leaves it with the stable hand who was called for when the guards saw him approaching.

The instant warmth once he enters the courtyard and the familiar embrace of his own magic soothe him instantly, the feeling of peace only intensifying as his eyes land on Taashathi descending the stairs and smiling. "Solas!" she exclaims. She is before him in an instant and only briefly hesitates before pulling him into her arms. Solas doesn't think about who might see or what they might think, he melts against her, wrapping his own arms around her waist and pulling her in close. "I guess I owe Varric an ale. I wasn't sure you were coming back," she whispers in his ear, her tone teasing.

 Taashathi finally lets him go, though it is clear she is reluctant to do so. He can't blame her; he wants nothing more than to climb into bed and hold her and be held by her and talk about nothing and everything. Her soft voice and vibrant eyes alleviate the worst of his tension. He feels so distant from the Inquisition, now; he has no idea what has happened in the three weeks he has been gone. He wants to ask how everyone is, what they are doing, where they stand in their research, how he can help; there are so many questions he is overwhelmed by them.

She must sense his disquiet, because she rocks on her feet slightly before she says, "How are you, Solas?"

"It hurts," he answers truthfully, the pain clear in his tone. His eyes flit nervously around, but no one is paying attention to them. "It always does, but I will survive."

There is a fleeting flicker of emotion which passes over her face which Solas doesn't quite catch, and her eyes pass to the nearby merchants, the passing soldiers and messengers, the business of Skyhold which carries on around them as if they are not having a painful reunion. _You should have never left_ , he thinks.

"Thank you… for coming back," she whispers. She doesn't quite seem to know what to do with her hands. Her right one tugs absently on the hem of her tunic, her left one hooks into her belt. He notices she is standing straighter than she used to - when did she start doing that? - and he has to look up at her slightly. Her fidgeting is in sharp contrast to the confident stance she has taken, shoulders back, and head held high.

"I couldn't leave. You need me," he replies, his tone light. He barely stops himself from adding ' _I need you'_ \- it would be too serious and intimate to say here, where anyone could overhear. She raises an eyebrow at his bluster, her lips trying not to quirk up into a smile. "You were a true friend," he concedes, finally. "You did everything you could to help. I could hardly abandon you now."

She nods once. "Solas… I… I really want to talk more, somewhere… more private, but I have meetings and-"

Life has done as it always will - carried on without him. He nods his understanding. "Ahh… yes, of course. I'm sorry to keep you, Inquisitor. Perhaps you could come by my office later and brief me on all that I've missed?" he asks. His tone is a bit too hopeful.

"Yes, of course," Taashathi agrees eagerly. She pulls him into another hug, far too brief for his liking and whispers quickly and softly. "The next time you need to mourn, Solas, you don't have to be alone."

"It has been so long since I could trust someone," he chokes out, his voice barely above a whisper.

She lets him go, pulling back just enough to see his face. There's a brief instant where Solas is almost certain she's going to kiss him, and his heart flutters in anticipation; it has been too many weeks since he last felt the press of her lips. She pulls away further, her hand moving to his arm to squeeze it gently. "I know," she says, her tone sad.

"I will work on it." The promise falls from his lips, and he is surprised to find he means it. He wants to trust her, wants to share with her, to be vulnerable with her. It is a terrifying prospect. "And thank you."  
  


* * *

 

Solas moves throughout his day in a daze. He thought being back in the physical world would be easier, but thus far, it hasn't been so. On his desk is a stack of research and correspondence which has been waiting for his attention for weeks. Although he is positive the details of what had occurred hasn't spread throughout the Inquisition (his Agents had not been able to report to him _what_ happened, only that something had and whether or not he would return was uncertain), it is clear people know enough to give him some privacy. Someone (Josephine or Taashathi?) has arranged for the servants to bring him tea and food regularly without interrupting him and without him having to ask, but otherwise, people seem to be quietly avoiding disturbing him. Part of him is grateful, but part of him wishes for the interaction with others to distract him.

His work is painstakingly slow; his mind wanders at inopportune times, dragging him from the depths of concentration into the pain of grief kicking and screaming. He desperately tries to resist but is not always successful. The push and pull of it are exhausting.

Taashathi has left him detailed reports of plans and missions he has missed and reports from her advisors. Tucked discretely into the middle of the pile is the report about the death of the mage from the Exalted Plains.

A note has been attached to it with a tiny bit of sealing wax.

_Solas,_

_I thought you would want to know._

_~ Taashathi_

He almost doesn't recognize the handwriting, tiny and precise for such a large hand to create; over the last few weeks, Taashathi's hand has grown steady from practice and sure from growing confidence. He wonders how long it took her to write this so perfectly, and if she had to try multiple times to get it right, or if she really _doesn't_ need his guidance as much as he thought. How has he been underestimating her, still, even after they have been through so much?

He sets the report into the pile of correspondence to be burned, but he finds his eyes moving back to it as he tries to press onward. With a soft sigh, he removes the note and tucks it into his journal and moves the report further down into the pile. Does she suspect? Surely someone must: Dorian, perhaps, or Vivienne. Will they tell her? What will she think?

His hand is shaking as he pours another cup of tea, and in spite of the caffeine, his eyes are getting heavy. He is not sure how much more of this he can take.  
  


* * *

 

Solas awakes with a start, confused by the softness of the bed, the sunlight streaming through the windows, and the soft body he has half-sprawled on top of, half-curled against. He vaguely remembers dozing off at his desk, entering the Fade, and he certainly remembers his time in the Fade, replaying memories of Elvhenan and, eventually, seeking out his Agents; what he doesn't remember is coming to bed and especially not with Taashathi.

He is still blinking back his memories of the Fade and his confusion as Taashathi stirs. She yawns lightly and pulls him closer, pressing her forehead against his. The gesture is surprisingly intimate, and so very Taashathi his heart lurches painfully. He has missed her so much. "Good morning," she whispers.

"Good morning," he replies, his voice is scratchy, the vestiges of sleep hanging about the edges of his throat.

"I didn't think you would mind. I should have woken you when I found you asleep in your office, but-"

"You carried me here," he interrupts, and she nods.

"I'm sorry. I just… I missed you, but you looked exhausted," she explains.

"It is okay, Taashathi. I didn't want to wake up anywhere else," he confirms. She squeezes him gently, the smile lighting up her face only serves to enhance her beauty. For the first time in weeks, he feels a smile tug at the corner of his on lips.

Her smile falls a bit and she shifts, yawning again. "Solas, where did you go?" she asks.

He stiffens in her arms, the fear she suspects he killed Henry causes him to retreat from her side. He forces himself to sit up and stretches before he answers. If he must lie to her, he doesn't want to see the look on her face when he does it. He cannot bring himself to watch the moment where she either suspects him for what he is or becomes vulnerable by trusting him.

The truth, for now. "I found a quiet spot and went to sleep. I visited the place in the Fade where my friend used to be. It's empty, but there are stirrings of energy in the void. Someday something new may grow there," he answers. He expects it, then, the question he does not wish to answer.

It doesn't come. Instead of asking, Taashathi sits up next to him and places a steadying hand on his back. He breathes deeply, and she lets the silence hang for a bit before continuing. "Solas, you… you don't have to answer if you don't want to," _Here it is_ , "but what happens when a Spirit dies?"

He cannot school the shock from his face as he turns to look at her. He sees it then, the guilt he suspected she carried, the anguish she's had at wondering what may have been possible if they'd arrived sooner, the worry about the pain _she_ caused _him_ ; it is all written on her face as clearly as the physical scars. Solas is shaken. She cares too deeply, too thoroughly; what will happen to her when she discovers he is a monster? What has he _done_?

It takes a moment for him to gather his courage to speak, and he has to look away from her to find his voice. He doesn't realize he is shaking until he hears the tremble in his own voice. "It isn't the same for mortals. The energy of Spirits returns to the Fade. If the idea giving the Spirit form is strong, or if the memory has shaped other Spirits, it may someday rise again," he answers.

She shifts then, wrapping her strong arms around him, pulling him back against her to support him, and Solas wants to scream at her to stop. He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve her. "You're saying your friend may someday come back."

"No," he chokes the word out. He has accepted the nature of Wisdom's fate. It still hurts, yes, but at the moment, the worse pain comes from knowing how deeply Taashathi cares, and how unworthy of it he is. He should have sent her away the first night in Haven, should have let her return to drinking with Varric instead of accepting her invitation. If he had, would she be happy now, with Iron Bull or Sera or Blackwall or one of the dozens of other admirers she had?

"Not really," he presses on, "A Spirit's natural state is peaceful semi-existence. It is rare to be able to reflect reality. Something similar may reform one day, but it might have a different personality. It would likely not remember me. It would not be the friend I knew."

"I'm so sorry," she whispers. "If we had gotten there sooner-"

"It likely would not have helped," he assures her. "The damage to Wisdom was done the instant they ripped it from the Fade with the intention to force it to kill."

She falls quiet, presses a gentle kiss to the back of his neck. It is meant to be soothing, but Solas cannot take it any longer. He flees the bed, throwing off the covers and nearly tripping over the footboard as he forces his way to the balcony. He has a death grip on the railing, trying to school his breathing. From deep within the recess of his memories, he hears Sylaise's voice, _just look at me, Solas. Hold a moment_ _… good_ … _now look past me…_

Calming the rising tide of panic is now as natural as breathing, and only takes a moment. She hesitates to join him, and he understands why, how it must look, but she does join him, eventually. He swallows hard as he turns to face her. "What were you like before the Anchor?" She looks at him and then at her hand, wordlessly. "Has it affected you? Changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your… spirit?"

It isn't what he meant to say, but it has been in the back of his mind. He could not ignore their connection; perhaps Taashathi could not, either. It would be better if that were the case, wouldn't it? "Solas… what?" she begins to ask, but she stops herself as she takes a step forward. "I don't believe so."

"Ah." The sound escapes him involuntarily. There it went. His hope that he would be justified in walking away from this… from her. If she is unchanged, then it means he has not coerced her; she truly cares for him.

"Why do you ask?"

He looks away from her. There is no way he can tell her the truth, not about why he asked, but there are other truths he should share. "You show a wisdom I have not seen since… since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade," he begins. "You are not what I expected."

Taashathi frowns slightly. "W-what have I done that was so surprising?"

"Everything!" he replies. "Qunari are savage creatures, their ferocity held in check only by the rigid teachings of the Qun, but you have shown a subtlety in your actions, a wisdom that goes against everything I was taught about your people." Her jaw clenches and Solas hesitates. The expression on her face is familiar, and he recalls she wore it the morning after their kiss in the Fade. He falters, then, losing his train of thought. She was upset at him then. "I… I am trying to say, while I was away from you… I… I missed you terribly… and I have come to care-"

"No," she interrupts. Her tone is a command, as forceful as when she leads them on the battlefield.

Solas halts, his brain skittering to a stop. "Pardon?" he manages.

"No. I think I know where this is going, and if so, I won't let you do it this way," Taashathi begins again. She takes a step closer to him, and he cranes his head back to look up at her. "You are complimenting me by disparaging a group I am part of. You… you can't do that and then tell me you… you… care about me, Solas. I won't be that for you. I won't be 'not like the other Qunari' or 'not like the other apostates' or 'not like the other girls.' So, try again."

"I… I didn't mean it that way," Solas protests.

"But it's what you said. I doubt the Iron Bull would be glad to hear you expected him to go savage from being Tal-Vashoth. Not when you spent so much time convincing him otherwise," Taashathi sighs. "I won't let you compare me to racist things you've heard, Solas, so try again."

"It… it's wasn't meant to be… I was saying you weren't… you aren't… that you don't fit-," he is fumbling for his words now as his earlier panic returns. _Breath deep_ , he reminds himself. _Deep and slow_.

"You weren't what I was expecting, either, Solas. I didn't expect you to go so long without begging for coin," she begins. "I honestly can't believe you don't have one of those savage tattoos on your face with as obsessed as you are with history, and frankly, it's probably a miracle you haven't erupted into an abomination by now with your association with Spirits. You're stronger than I expected, too; all elves are fragile because they're so small. I guess all of that makes it okay for me to be attracted to you."

His stomach churns, and he feels the color leave his face. Is that really what he did? "Oh," he says softly. "I didn't… I didn't think what I was saying through."

"You didn't. For someone who's so brilliant and who likes to hear the sound of his own voice, you are shit at communication," Taashathi teases. "So, if you want to do this, try again."

He nods and looks away from her, wondering exactly how to say what he is thinking, and then he realizes he _shouldn't_ say it. She has given him the perfect way to escape, to leave without acknowledging how desperate he has become, how much he has strayed from his goal; he can cut his ties cleanly. "I… I mustn't. Taashathi, thank you, for your friendship, but it would be kinder in the long run…"

He nearly chokes as the words stop, his chest and stomach physically revolting against his decision. He doesn't look at her, refuses to see the anguish on her face as he tries to run, but he barely manages to take a step before she's pulling him back. "Don't go," she gasps. "I understand you are hurting now… and you're embarrassed, but don't go. Not… not now. We can talk it out, right? Over breakfast? I can call a servant and-"

"You weren't what I was expecting," he blurts, "because I wasn't expecting to… I didn't want… I…" Her violet eyes are wide as she stares down at him, but he cannot bring himself to say it. He barely manages to raise his voice above a whisper as he stutters out, "ar lath ma, vhenan."

The kiss she gives him is tentative, though Solas finds himself chasing it like a drowning man chases air. He is on his tiptoes, leaning against Taashathi, his lips parting eagerly as her tongue slips against them. He is panting by the time she pulls away, smirking down at him. "Now, what to tell me what you said," she asks. It takes a moment for him to realize he spoke in Elvish, and he flushes deeply.

"I… I said, 'I love you, my heart,'" he admits.

"Tell me what the words mean," she requests, and he nearly screams in frustration. Now is not a time for a lesson. His heart is pounding in his chest, fear building. What if she doesn't feel the same way? What if he has been sorely misreading her?

"'Vhenan' is… it's a term of endearment," he struggles to explain. He sways in her arms, rocking back so that he is flat on his feet again. "It means… it's… my heart, my home. It's… it's very…"

She must hear some of his distress in his tone. "We have a word like that in Qunlat… 'kadan', but we have nothing for 'I love you'."

"Yes," he agrees as he lets go of her nightshirt. He had not realized he was gripping it, or that he was gripping it so tightly. "'Vhenan' is very much like 'kadan'." The elation at finally making his declaration has faded. She clearly does not feel the same, and he has been a fool. He should have walked away.

"What was the rest of it? 'Ar lath ma'?" she questions softly. He nods his agreement, not really listening to the question. "Could I… could I say that, or is it… should… I not? Because I won't… if you don't…"

" _What_?" Solas has to blink twice before his brain tries to comprehend what she's asking.

"Your language is beautiful, Solas, and if… if I'm going to say something like that, then I want it to be beautiful. I want it to _mean_ something to you," she says softly. He swallows hard and nods once, unable to find his voice. "Good," she nearly sighs. She wraps her arms around him tightly, and pulls him close, leaning down to whisper in his ear, "ar lath ma, kadan."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Driven by their confessions of love, Solas and Taashathi finally give in to their desire.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _He can't stop smiling, even as he turns to face her, his hand beginning to roam her curves, fingertips traipsing across her skin. Their kisses are slow and gentle, their hands exploratory. He is pressed firmly against her as her hands move over his back, his shoulders, his face. The breaks between their kisses are silent save for their joint breathing, sighs and gasps ghosting over lips and skin. Her smile is broad, and she leans forward to press her forehead against his._
> 
> _His heart swells at the intimacy of this moment and he realizes with a start that for the first time in… he can't remember how long… he is happy. His heart pounds in his chest, fear gripping him. He should not have given in, should not have allowed himself to indulge. He should end this now. But as she smiles at him and leans forward for another kiss, he is overcome with the urge to hold on, to not let such a miracle go. In the end, he is terribly selfish._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait between updates! I foolishly signed up for some Halloween fic events and lost a month writing fics for those. The good news is that my goal for NaNo is to write 50,000(+?) on my DA fanfic WIPs, so you will hopefully get one-two updates on each of those this month, assuming I hit that goal.
> 
> This chapter is the much awaited _actual_ smut - just over 6000 words of it. I hope it doesn't disappoint.
> 
> * * *
> 
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>  **prompt me:** [how to](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/post/185117840754) ☆ [submit](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/ask) ☆ [read on tumblr](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/tagged/my-drabbles) ☆ [read on ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19825843)
> 
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He nearly throws himself at her, capturing her lips enthusiastically as he pulls her to him. She must not be expecting it because she stumbles backward; he moves with her as his tongue pushes into her mouth, one hand pulling her down for the kiss as his other holds her close. He can't seem to get close enough to her.

Taashathi's soft moan of approval urges him onward, and the hand most tangled in her hair begins to roam her body, sliding over the roundness of her ass, dancing over the curve of her waist, caressing the swell of her breasts. He is lost to the smell and taste and feel of her; he shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be giving in to his _need_ , but in this moment he cannot stop. He is desperate to be close to her.

He feels her lips turn up into a smile in the kiss, and she breaks it subtly as she bumps against the balcony's railing. Her breath is warm on his skin, and she is panting softly. "Eager, aren't we?" she teases, words barely tripping past her lips before he nips at the bottom one.

"For you, vhenan? Always," Solas answers. He loses track of time with them like this; he has no idea how long they kiss, how long his fingertips roam her body trying to memorize its curves and planes, how long he is drowning in the taste and smell and feel of her.

Eventually, he realizes this can't be comfortable for her; he has never thought much about their height difference or given any concern to how tiring it must be for her to bend down to kiss him. He raises up on his tiptoes and breaks the kiss, intending to ask if they should move, but Taashathi's hands are on his ass pulling him closer. "Solas," she gasps. His name is like a whispered prayer, a quiet plea for something more.

A moan escapes him as he becomes aware of his insistent hardness pressed between them. She pulls him closer again, and the friction makes the world spin. Oh, they shouldn't. He shouldn't. He should have remained distant, should have never indulged, should have never let himself feel the way he does about her. She gazes down at him, amethyst eyes nearly hidden by pupils blown wide with desire, lips kiss-plumped and darkened. He swallows hard.

He has a feeling that he is standing on the edge of a precipice once again. He can stop this, can choose now to take back some modicum control of his life, to place firm boundaries, and perhaps mitigate some damage; or he can give in to his selfish impulses, can let Taashathi claim him, consume him, obliterate him. He inhales sharply, and before he even realizes he has decided, he leaps.

Their kisses are more fervent now, desperate longing driving them to nearly bruising. His thumb traces the scar on her cheek, and she shudders. They're moving then, stumbling awkwardly across the balcony; it doesn't help the sensation he's falling, plunging into the darkness of uncertainty.

He should stop. Maybe it isn't too late.

He _can't_.

Their progress halts as Taashathi backs into something which stops her in her tracks. It takes Solas a minute to realize the hardwood pressing against the back of his hands belongs to her desk. He lifts her a tiny bit, and she lets out a giggle as he deposits her on the desk.

He can't help his injured pride at the sound, and he breaks their kisses. They are nearly the same height now, and it is difficult for him to stay mad at the sight of her pearlescent skin taking on a darker hue, flushed with need, her eyes sparkling with a mix of joy and desire that warms him. "Are you laughing at me?" he asks, making a show of being injured.

"Of course not, kadan," Taashathi assures him, "just imagining the others' reactions to you picking me up."

"You are thinking about the rest of the Inquisition _now_? That will not do." Solas can't stop his smirk as his hands slide under her tunic, hiking up the fabric as his fingertips dance over her skin. He wastes no time in pressing a kiss just beneath her ear, and then another lower, as his fingers find her breast band. She is shuddering underneath his touch, and her breathing becomes ragged as he presses a kiss to the hollow of her neck.

He replaces his kiss with a tongue, licking at the spot as his fingers toy with her quickly hardening nipple through the fabric of her breast band. Her ragged breath devolves into a moan, and she tosses her head back, giving him better access. It only encourages him further, and he pinches her nipple roughly, biting gently at her neck. "Ahhh!" Taashathi cries out, wrapping her legs around him, pulling him closer as she tugs at his tunic.

He can't help but think she has a good idea. He reluctantly pulls away from her and tugs her tunic over her head. Even with her help, he manages to get it tangled in her horns, and he flushes deeply. "Ir abelas," he mumbles.

"Don't care," she responds. It must have been a frequent issue because she manages to extract herself with an ease borne of years of practice.

He takes the reprieve to remove his own tunic. Her hands are on his hips then, and she's pulling him to her insistently, legs still wrapped around him tightly. He should be ravishing her, but instead, he's struck by her beauty: by the strength of her arms, the swell of her breasts, the faint definition of her stomach. Her skin is shimmering in the sunlight, the light incandescent glimmer makes her otherworldly. She smiles at him shyly through her long lashes. "What is it?" she asks.

"You're gorgeous," he whispers. His fingertips slide up her smooth thighs, and his hand lands firmly on her ass. He pulls her closer to the edge of the desk and leans forward to kiss her though he doesn't do it quite yet, his other hand traversing her stomach slowly and sensually to toy with the edge of her breast band. Her breath is shaky against his lips, and she sighs into his touch almost imperceptibly.

He knows it is cruel to them both to tease, but he can't help it; he is delighting in the way she is trembling in anticipation, head thrown back, body tingling. His hips move of their own volition, seeking some relief for his insistent erection, and he hisses as the friction. The moan that escapes her is unexpected, and he claims it with a kiss. Another thrust earns him another moan; he must be fitted against her perfectly with the way her legs are shaking, each thrust stimulating her sensitive clit.

Taashathi nips at his lips, her own hips beginning to move against his, seeking what little pleasure she can get through her smalls. His fingers slip underneath her breast band, teasing the skin underneath her bosom. She moans again, the sound becoming more desperate. He can't help but give her ass a squeeze before he releases it, both hands moving to unclasp the fabric breast band and free her.

Her breast is heavy in his hand as he claims it with a gentle squeeze, his right hand moving back to her ass to hold him against him. She moans into his mouth again, their open-mouthed kisses sloppy and desperate, and her legs squeeze him tightly as she bucks against him. His fingers pinch at the hardened peak of her nipple and a shudder runs through her. He rolls it between his forefinger and thumb, twisting gently. Taashathi tosses her head back far enough her horns nearly scrape the desk, and her moan becomes a low sound in the back of her throat.

"Oh, Maker, Solas," she gasps. Her hands move firmly to his ass, pulling him closer as she grinds against him wantonly. His cock pulses in his trousers, precum gathering at the tip as his arousal becomes nearly unbearable. His left hand slides to her right breast, squeezing it before brushing over her nipple featherlight and teasing.

The sounds she makes are becoming more desperate, breathless and ragged. It is a symphony of pleasure, and Solas is captivated by it. He twists her nipple, and she tenses, thrusting against him recklessly. She clings to him as her orgasm seems to overtake her, limbs shaking, and voice cracking as she spasms.

It is over as quickly and unexpectedly as it began. She is clinging to him then, pulling him insistently to her and claiming his lips, large arms and long legs relaxed as they encompass him. She is still breathing heavily as she breaks the kiss. Their eyes meet; hers are heavy-lidded with lust and she licks her lips. "Your turn," she declares, sliding off the edge of the desk; she leans against him heavily, legs nearly giving out before she pushes herself to standing confidently.

Solas is overwhelmed by her kisses then, the way she is bearing down on him, directing him, pushing him fervently across the room. He is vaguely aware they are heading for the bed, but he is so focused on her tongue and lips and the feeling of her hands on his body that he nearly yelps in surprise when the back of his thighs hits the bed.

Her fingers fumble with the laces of his breeches, and she growls in frustration. His hardness straining urgently against the fabric is making it more difficult for her to loosen the knot, but when she manages, he nearly sighs in relief. It takes her no time to divest him of his breeches and shove him back onto the bed. He crawls back onto it in a comfortable position as she removes her smalls and joins him.

He reaches for her, hand seeking her hip, but she smacks at his hand playfully. "Stop it," she admonishes, "I said it was your turn."

"But," he tries to protest.

"It's only fair," she retorts.

He flushes a bit and licks his lips, trying to find the words. He's not as young as he once was, and he cannot pull infinite energy from the Fade; the stamina he had in Elvhenan is no longer a guarantee, and he is loath to admit it. Taashathi doesn't give him the chance to argue as she shoves him back, settling between his legs. Her large hands stroke his thighs teasingly, and he sighs, relaxing into the luxurious mattress and pillows of her bed. Perhaps he should fight more, but he can't bring himself to do so as one hand wraps around his length, stroking him slowly, pulling back the foreskin to expose his head. The moan that escapes him is soft and unintentional, and Taashathi grins up at him as her violet eyes meet his.

What he sees in her eyes gives him pause: raw desire mixed with love. He has known, in a distant way, Taashathi has wanted him, but to see it so plainly written in her eyes is overwhelming for a moment. Solas forgets to breathe. She shifts, getting more comfortable as she leans forward to take him into her mouth.

His head spins as her tongue swirls around him, pushing under the foreskin and tasting his precum gathered there; her tongue teases him, sliding in unpredictable patterns, the tip of her tongue pushing into the hole of his dick to taste him. He can't breathe as the pleasure surges through him. It feels as if fire and lightning are coursing through his body, dancing over his skin, stealing his breath. Her lips push his foreskin back further exposing the entire head of his cock as she takes it fully into her mouth. His hand tangles in her hair as she slowly begins to slide down his length, taking him into the warm, wet cavern, tongue dancing dizzying patterns over his sensitive skin. "Fenedhis," he gasps, eyes sliding closed.

She moans in what sounds like agreement, the vibrations sending sparks through his body. Her tongue moves over the pulsing veins, tracing them, darting up to flick against the ridge at the base of his head. This is so much better than he imagined it in in the Fade, so much better than the time he was with the Desire spirit wearing her face. He is shaking with barely held restraint, his grip tightening on her hair as she slides down slowly.

"Taasha," he moans. He has never called her by her nickname, but there is no way he can manage to get her entire name out when he can hardly breathe. She moans in response again, the vibrations surrounding him, causing his head to spin even with his eyes closed tight. He licks his lips, tries to regain his control. It doesn't work. He feels her throat contract around him as she takes him further in, her hand moving to his balls to give them a squeeze; they pull up tighter in response, and she begins to move slowly up and down, tongue flicking and tracing and overwhelming his body.

He can't think, can't breathe, all he can do is let the waves of pleasure wash over him, skin tingling, body tensing. It is too much, so much, and he can't stop it, can't prevent his muscles from tightening, his heels from digging into the mattress, his hips from lifting to seek more, driving him deeper into her throat. She swallows him eagerly, unphased by his loss of control; he is vaguely aware of shame filling him, permeating his psyche as the blood fills his face. He pulses in her mouth, lengthening; he is impossibly hard.

"Taasha, stop," he gasps. "I… I… I'm going to…" He tugs on her hair, trying to pull her off him; his moans are echoing in her bedchamber, but she still isn't stopping.

Desperate for some modicum of control, he arches his back, pulling away from her just enough that his orgasm ebbs away, bringing him back from the edge. She slides up his cock, tongue moving over his skin. She releases him with a resounding _pop_ , a frown on her pretty face as he sinks back into the mattress. "Why?" she demands.

"Because… I… I might not… I want to…" he can't admit it, can't get the words out to tell her that he is worried if he finishes now, he might not be able to bring her more pleasure and that he desperately wants to be inside of her. His cheeks are flushed, and he looks away, unable to meet her intense gaze.

"What about what I want?" she asks him. Her hand is still working slowly, sliding up and down on him, making it difficult to think.

He swallows hard. "Don't you want-"

"I want to watch you come undone," she interrupts, tone raspy with desire. "I want you to fall apart because of my tongue and fingers. Anything that comes after that is just a bonus."

"But-"

Her left hand slides up his stomach and neck, interrupting his argument, as she taps two fingers against his lips. "Suck," she demands, and Solas can't help but respond instinctively, opening his mouth. The instinct to obey her throws him off-guard for a moment and he flushes deeper (he must be scarlet by now), embarrassed that he listened.

He does as she demands. He sucks on her fingers, tongue swirling around them, and she moans softly, the hand on his cock stuttering as her eyes slide shut. "Can't you just be a good boy and let me please you?" she asks, her voice thick with desire. The thrill which passes through him is unexpected, and his tongue falters its movement on her fingers. He sucks a bit harder and nods in agreement. She must feel the motion of his nod, but it isn't enough; she wants to _see_ his agreement. She opens her eyes to watch him, violet sparkling amusement at his stunned reactions, and he nods again, unable to stop himself from moaning softly. "Excellent," she whispers as she removes the fingers from his mouth.

Her fingers slip across his perineum… and then lower, teasing his entrance. "Can I do this for you?" she whispers, and he nods before he can stop himself. He hisses as she presses into him, his saliva not quite enough to ease the entrance. If he thought it was hard to breathe before, it is impossible now. Her hands move in unison, large fingers pushing into him, stretching him as they move in and out, her other hand stroking up and down his cock.

The burn is too much, the resistance to her movement a bizarre mix of pleasure and pain that stokes the fire at the base of his spine. The hand on his cock is twisting as it moves, and he gasps deeply as he can't help but lift his hips, desperately seeking more, and then he pushes back driving her fingers in further. She is pumping them now, each stroke drawing a ragged gasp from him. He had not expected this from her, had never imagined she would be so forward as to give him this kind of pleasure; he feels like a fool. Her fingers curl inside of him, pressing against his prostate, and he cries out, stars exploding behind his closed eyelids.

She wanted to see him come undone, and it is happening. There is nothing he can do to stop it. Every press of her fingers against his prostate sends a tsunami of ecstasy crashing into his body, making his limbs heavy. He is pulled so taut he thinks he might snap in half, hands scrambling for purchase in the sheets, clutching at them uselessly. His brain has short-circuited, he can't think or breathe or control his body. His hips are moving wildly, pressing back and pushing forward with abandon; he is close, so close. The sounds he is making echo in his own ears. He is a being of fire and lightning and pleasure, not flesh and bone, and he only wants _more_.

Her thumb sweeps across the head of his precum covered dick, and it is too much. The scream that escapes him is wild and uncontrolled, and she moves to take him into her mouth. He feels her warm breath against his cock, but she doesn't quite make it before he is shaking, muscles spasming as his orgasm rips him apart, his dick pulsing wildly in her hand.

The warmth of his spend hits his stomach, and every pump of her hand and press of her fingers as he spasms around her causes more and more of it. He doesn't think it will ever stop, that he'll ever stop feeling pleasure. Taashathi doesn't quit until the last waves of rapture produce nothing, just spasms of bliss that cause his eyes to roll back into his head; his body hurts from the force of it. She removes her fingers from him slowly, and he collapses back onto the bed, limbs leaden, muscles so relaxed he can't move- even working his lungs is difficult. He has shattered at her command; there is nothing left of him.

She gives him one last squeeze before releasing him, and his dick spasms weakly, an aftershock of bliss coursing through him. He manages to move his arm over his eyes, shielding himself and trying to hide his embarrassment; that was too easy, he came far too quick. Taashathi has reduced him to nothing but sensation; she has broken him, made him come undone just the way she wanted. He manages to compose himself, though his face is still scarlet, and he moves the arm, opening his eyes to catch Taashathi licking her hand clean.

She smirks up at him, her expression as smug as the cat who ate the canary. "That wasn't so bad was it?" she asks. She leans forward, tongue moving across his stomach as she licks him clean. The movement of her tongue is slow and languid, and although it feels good, it is nothing like the pleasure she wrenched from him moments earlier. It still makes it difficult to think of anything else.

"Not at all," he agrees softly, unsure of how much time has passed since she asked. Her task done she stretches out beside him, still smiling at him as she leans forward to kiss him. He can taste himself on her lips and tongue, and his cock gives a weak jump at the thought. She pulls away from the kiss, and he lets out a satisfied sigh. "Did you accomplish your goal, vhenan?"

She laughs and nods. "Yes, and watching you come undone was… glorious."

He can't stop smiling, even as he turns to face her, his hand beginning to roam her curves, fingertips traipsing across her skin. Their kisses are slow and gentle, their hands exploratory. He is pressed firmly against her as her hands move over his back, his shoulders, his face. The breaks between their kisses are silent save for their joint breathing, sighs and gasps ghosting over lips and skin. Her smile is broad, and she leans forward to press her forehead against his.

His heart swells at the intimacy of this moment and he realizes with a start that for the first time in… he can't remember how long… he is happy. His heart pounds in his chest, fear gripping him. He should not have given in, should not have allowed himself to indulge. He should end this now. But as she smiles at him and leans forward for another kiss, he is overcome with the urge to hold on, to not let such a miracle go. In the end, he is terribly selfish.

Solas claims her lips more desperately, then, pushing her onto her back as he straddles her. He presses his lips to the bridge of her nose where it was broken, to the scar running down her cheek, to the faint scar on her jawline. He wonders about the stories behind these scars, and he wants to ask, just barely stops himself. He wants to know everything about her, about her body, not just the scars, but her horns, and her lips and her breasts; he wants to know which places to kiss and lick and which to stroke to drive her insane. The need is burning in him.

He kisses his way down her neck, runs his tongue over her collarbone, traces the swell of her breasts. He nips at the skin next to her nipple, delights in the way it makes her moan softly and arch into his touch, one of her hands moving to the back of his head. Her breathing is erratic as his tongue circles her nipple. He suckles it gently and her hips raise up, seeking friction he isn't providing. He hums around her, sliding down a bit to position himself between her legs. He presses a thigh between her legs, and she moans as she writhes against it, her fingernails scraping against his scalp.

His tongue blazes a trail across her skin, circling her other nipple. It hardens almost immediately, and he takes it fully into his mouth to suck and lick and nip at the pebbled flesh. Her breath breaks as he tugs roughly on her nipple between his teeth, and he feels her wetness surge against his thigh as she arches up, seeking more. He files away the information for later, delighting in the tiny bit of knowledge he's gained about her _: she likes it rough_.

He never should have worried about his own stamina with her reacting this way to his touch. Every gasp and moan and movement he draws from her with his tongue sends a thrill through him, and before long he is filling again, pressing as insistently against her hip as she is his thigh. He can't help but thrust against her, feeling the precum begin to gather at his tip again.

She sinks back onto the bed as he releases her nipple, panting and whimpering, hips moving against him. He doesn't allow either of them much reprieve as his tongue drags down her body, pausing to teasingly dip his tongue into her belly button. She whimpers, his name falling from her lips like a plea. It drives him to be merciful - at least somewhat - as he continues his tongue's downward trail to her hip bone.

He licks and sucks at the sensitive skin there, hard enough it would bruise if she weren't vashoth, and her hand curls at the back of his scalp once again, nails scratching lightly and sending shivers down his spine. Her hips lift, seeking the friction that his thigh was providing, but with it gone she receives no relief for her frustration. He sneaks a peek at her face, then, lips never leaving her skin as he gazes up at her. Her teeth have captured her bottom lip, and her eyes are screwed tightly shut as a whimper leaves her.

He hesitates only slightly before moving from the spot after a teasing nibble, pressing a gentle kiss among the white curls growing just above his goal. She must be nearly as eager as he is if the way she spreads her legs to give him better access is any indication. His hands slide up her thighs as he settles, moving under her ass to lift her hips.

Taashathi wraps one long leg over his shoulder, heel digging into his back already as she tries to direct him closer. He huffs a laugh against her, and she growls softly. "Solas, you tease," she accuses, and he can't stop the true laugh that escapes him then.

"And you accused me of being eager," he taunts, but he falls silent as her hand slides down her body to spread herself for him, exposing her swollen clit and the wetness which has gathered in anticipation. It's possibly one of the most erotic things he has ever witnessed, and he's temporarily struck dumb. He throbs with excitement and has to stop from throwing himself eagerly at the task awaiting him.

"If you don't do something about it, I will," she warns, but before she can act, his tongue darts out to flick against her clit. She hisses in response and pulls him closer, the hand on the back of his head holding him in place as her heel presses more firmly against his back. Her hips lift impatiently, but it doesn't do her any good; he is resisting giving her what she wants as long as he can. His own desire to taste her is nearly unbearable, though, and he inhales deeply as one of his hands leaves her ass to give himself a squeeze, trying to provide himself some relief.

He is overwhelmed by her scent with the inhale - musky and yet sweet - and he can't stop himself from moaning at the tangy taste of her as he finally gives in to his urges. His tongue moves in long strokes, up and down, barely grazing her clit before changing direction again to dive down again. It isn't long before her hips are working with his movements seeking _more_. The tip of his tongue circles her entrance; her moan echoes in his ears as her hips stop moving; her legs shake in anticipation.

His tongue plunges into her stroking in and out rhythmically as she clenches and relaxes around his tongue. He can think of nothing but the taste of her and how desperately he wants her to be clenching around his cock; her moans and gasps fill his ears; he glances up at her face, at the desperation written on it as she cants her hips toward him. Taashathi lets out a whine, and her fingers move to her clit, bumping his nose as she begins to stroke herself.

He can't stop himself from growling softly, his tongue swiping up to push aside her fingers and toy with the hardened nub. The hand on the back of his head holds him in place as he begins to suck at her clit. Her legs tighten around his head, legs trapping him as her every muscle pulls taut. Taashathi is fucking his face in earnest as he sucks and his tongue flicks and taps against her hardened nub. His chin is soaked with her arousal, and he can't help but stroke himself, his own need becoming unbearable.

"Fuck… oh fuck… Solas… Solas… ahhhh!" The shout echoes in his ears as she comes undone, and still he doesn't stop, not as her orgasm wracks her body, shudder after shudder accompanying the incoherent moans leaving her. He idly wonders how far her voice carried and who may have overheard, but he can't bring himself to _really_ care, not as his tongue darts out to send jolts of pleasure coursing through her. She sinks back into the bed, whimpering softly; her legs have gone limp and her hand moves from his head to push weakly at his shoulder.

He reluctantly moves away from her and leans back on his haunches, wiping at his mouth and chin almost lewdly as he gazes down at the blissful expression on Taashathi's face. Pride blooms in his handwork, a swell in his chest at the sight of her wrecked. She looks thoroughly debauched, platinum hair teased wild with all of her thrashing, eyes still squeezed shut as she pants softly, trying to regain her composure. She lets out a laugh as she rubs at her face with one hand and cracks her eyes to gaze up at him. "Smug bastard," she laughs.

He raises one shoulder, the smirk on his face an open admission to how self-satisfied he is; it would be useless to deny it. Taashathi doesn't seem to mind, though, because she reaches for him, pulling him to her to kiss the smirk from his face. It is easy to get lost in her, to surrender to the gentle movement of her lips and the soft but insistent press of her tongue, to bury his hands in her hair, to press his body flush against hers, to forget everything exists but the two of them. He can't help but squirm in her arms, his erection pressed almost painfully between them as her hands slowly roam his body. It is almost as if she were trying to memorize the feel of him, the shape of his muscles, the way he moves on top of her.

His mind is racing, thinking of all the times he's imagined being with her, the many positions he's concocted, but at this moment none of them feel quite right; he wants to kiss her, to watch the pleasure light across her face, to not worry about their height difference or if she is comfortable. He breaks the kiss and gently tugs at her ear lobe with his teeth. "Taashathi, vhenan," he whispers heatedly, "I… I want…" He stops short, unable to find the words. He has never been shy before, but she has him tongue-tied and uncertain. For a moment, he misses the foolhardy confidence of his youth, the brazen hot-headed nature which would have had him taking from her exactly what he wanted, knowing she wanted the same.

"You want?" her words are breathless and shaky against his ear.

"Do… do you want…"

"Koslun's balls, Solas, if I haven't made it abundantly clear I want you by now-"

"Will you ride me?" he blurts, finally. "I want to be inside you. I want to feel you around me as you cum again. Do you think you can do that? Can you move again already?"

She giggles underneath him, her hands stopping on his ass to pull him closer as she presses against him, smearing his precum against her stomach. She nibbles at his ear before whispering heatedly, "oh yes… I think I can do that."

He thrills at her statement and pushes himself away from her, sitting back on his haunches between her legs. He reaches for her, pulling her into his arms, and she curls into him, kissing him softly. For all her heated declarations, her limbs are relaxed, and she seems to melt against him as she straddles his lap. "Are you sure you can move?" he whispers against her lips.

Taashathi laughs and nods, pressing a kiss against his neck which sends shivers down his spine. "I think I can manage," she replies softly. Her hand moves between them, leisurely but sultry as if she is still caught in the bliss of her last orgasm, and she raises up on her knees as she wraps a hand around him. The motion puts him even with her breasts, and he can't stop himself from nipping at the tender flesh as she lines him up with her entrance. She teases him then, just barely sinking onto him, hips moving in a circular motion around the head of his cock. It wrenches a moan from him which was lost in her breasts.

The warmth that engulfs him as she begins to sink onto him makes his head swim and he inhales sharply, his hands moving to her hips. Her breathing is just as ragged as his, and she claims his lips in a series of sloppy open-mouth kisses that are more shared breathing than kisses, warm, shaky breaths mingling together over flushed skin. It isn't long before he was seated fully in her heat.

The act of being close to another person takes his breath and his fingers knead uselessly against the muscles of her back. He has been too alone for too long, unable to trust, unable to rely on anyone, unable to give in; it isn't enough, he needs to be closer, need to feel more of her. He can't inhale enough air, can't move, can't _exist_ outside of the two of them; one resounding thought pounds in time with his heart and he gasps the words out, "ar lath… ar lath ma, vhenan."

"Ar lath ma, kadan," she whispers into their kiss as she begins to rock on him slowly. His hands move to her hips, fingertips gripping hard enough they might bruise as he struggles to hold on to what little restraint he has. He is lost in her rhythm, in the gentle squeeze and relaxation, of the feeling of her thighs tensing against his, of her hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

Her gasps became moans of pleasure as he begins to meet her movements, thrusting up into her, his own deep moans joining hers involuntarily. She is beginning to tense, each stroke drawing out her pleasure, causing it to build; he can tell in the way she is breathing, the way her muscles are tightening, the way she is pulsing around him. He growls deeply and drags his nails up her back. "Ah!" she cries out, a spasm of ecstasy coursing through her. The sounds she made drive him on, heat and pleasure beginning to build as his muscles pull tight.

He curls his arms around her back, hands landing on her shoulders, giving him leverage to pull her down into him as he thrusts harder. Every push earns him a sharp, high-pitched cry, as she grips him tighter, tensing, tightening until it is hard for him to move. She claims his lips in a bruising kiss swallowing his growls, as her orgasm breaks through her. She spasms around him, still moving on him, still rocking roughly and erratically into his thrusts. Her movements tip him over the edge, white light exploding behind his eyes as tremors rock his body.

He comes to with both of them slumped together, sweaty and sticky; his nails dig into her skin, and hers into his, as they held onto one another for all they were worth. She releases him slowly, flexing her hands, and slumping heavily against his shoulder. She is heavy, but not so heavy he can't support her, and he sighs softly as he lets go of her shoulders and wraps his arms around her tightly. "Maker's breath," Taashathi whispers as an aftershock caused her to shudder.

"Yes," he agrees with her sentiment and she huffs a laugh between pants for air. He presses another kiss to her shoulder, tongue darting out to swipe against her salty skin.

It takes them long, blissful minutes to disentangle their languid limbs, to overcome the aftershocks of their orgasms to move to a more comfortable position. It takes them even longer to get enough of touching, of random stray kisses and fingers stroking sensitive skin.

Solas loses track of how long they lie like that and how many times Taashathi sends servants away before finally accepting breakfast. He should feel guilty, perhaps, for causing her to clear her schedule when there is so much work to be done, but he can't bring himself to… not when this may be the only moment they manage to steal. The problems of the world can hold for a few more hours.


End file.
